


We Almost Had It All...Didn't We?

by Mepriss



Category: Shefani (Fandom), The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Music, Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-12-08 20:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11654313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mepriss/pseuds/Mepriss
Summary: Blake Shelton is the co-founder of Interscope Records, one of the biggest recording labels in the music industry. Gwen Stefani is the lead singer of No Doubt, a ska band based out of Anaheim, California. It's fall of 1991.





	1. House Hold Name

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching the Defiant Ones on HBO last week and it inspired this entire story. I of course took some liberties with the timeline, the ages and friendships of characters, as well as places, songs, and events. To serve the plot, Gwen remains 22 at the beginning of this story as she was in real life but Blake is 31. I hope you don't mind the age difference. Blake is also kind of ooc to start with but will fall back into character as the story progresses. His background will also explain this in more depth. Before you look at the screen in confusion as well, Blake is called Boone in here by a few characters. It is a nickname and will be explained later on how he got it. Gwen is very much in character in my opinion as I went back and watched a lot of her old videos and performances when she was younger. This is a slow burn, but I think establishing a strong bond and friendship will further serve the love plot. We will get to romance but there's so much room for these two to grow and play off each other before it gets to that eventual point. I hope you stick with it because it will be worth reading their journey. I should also mention that I love music. It's the main reason I'm writing this story. I thought it would be really awesome to tell Gwen's journey to self-discovery and fame alongside Blake's own journey navigating the music industry on the other side of that glass in the recording booth. Hopefully I don't mess it up. I'll wrap this long author's note (sorry) but before I go, I recently made a new tumblr since I forgot the password to my old one and can't get signed back in. If you have any comments or further inquiries about the story, or even suggestions and questions, you can reach me there any time. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mepriss Thank you for clicking on this fic, I hope you enjoy the words as I write them.   
>  :(:): Andy

This isn’t a love story. This is an altruistic tale. And if you’re reading it and your name isn’t Blake then it’s possible that this wasn’t written for you. If you are like Blake however and have found yourself in a room without doors, a relationship without outs, a song without lyrics, then yes you have a place here. Perhaps you haven’t, perhaps you have taken the wiser paths and avoided some of life’s pitfalls, but you love someone and that means this is yours as well. Maybe you’ve never known love but you know curiosity. Maybe you’re reading this simply because you have an interest in Gwen Stefani. That’s fine, you’re welcome here. 

This is for you too.

 

Page 1

 

It was raining the first time they met. Every creature practically ran for cover, knowing that a war between heaven and earth was about to begin. The deep rumble of thunder echoed around buildings and lamp posts, and long tendrils of lightning lit up the sky like the bright flash on a camera. A hail of bullets fell through the air, and pounded against the ground, sending up plumes of dust and debris, and transformed everything into rivers of dirt and puddles of trash. 

Blake stared at the war in front of him before catching his reflection in the glass. His eyes locked onto his own. They looked the same, at a glance, but the real ones were warmer, a lot more honest and, unfortunately for him, a lot more transparent.

He was slender, more than he had ever been in his life. He’s not sure that it's a good thing, but it was captivating nonetheless; he remembered when people used to compare his weight to a willow tree as a child. But he’d always considered himself the ornamental kind. They’re pretty, handsome even, when they’re small, but in their natural element, inclined to grow tall and lean. The wood is white, light, and strong. His skin is monochrome as the morning fog. The only thing dark about him is his hair, dark as shadow with tints of teak, cinnamon, salt and carob. The scruff on his jaw was light and the candlelight burning the room ablaze picked up on the hint of bronze in his hair. Colours as calm as an Autumn breeze. The only pigment that really stood out of place were in his eyes, the way they shone strongly like the shade of sapphire. The only weak part about them were his glistening, anemic, lavender eyelids, and the purple shadows in the hollows under his orbs.

The more he stared the more the hues turned from a maya blue to a carolina. It accentuated his dark, classic, oxford blue suit. It wasn't exceptionally tailored but enough that his arms and legs were pronounced through the fine fabric. If his mama could see him now, he thought, and his lips didn't move to smile at the musings of his sweet mother but his jaw flexed, rippling the neatly trimmed scruff on his face, pronouncing a dimple.

Blake turned away, grabbed his raincoat and bag.

It was October 8th. 1991. A Saturday. As he made his walk South of the city, past Not Hill and Lake Crest, snuggled firmly between Phinney Ridge and Drake avenue, he found the little neighbourhood of Ballard. The rain continued to pour thick and heavy along the streets of L.A., effectively ending the unnaturally long dry spell that California had been burning from as a result. The people of L.A. looked to the sky with a mixture of dread, amusement, and resignation, zipping up their jackets as they mentally vowed to take their rain coats out of the backs of their closets. These people didn't own umbrellas. Fascinating.

Blake had finally reached Merlot Tea Shop, his favorite since coming to work out west. It was a tiny, quaint, establishment where he could come and depress without running into someone he knew from the music industry. 

He waved to Ivy, his usual waitress, and ordered his drink. While he waited, Blake took out a legal pad, the cassette deck and tapes from his duffel bag. He plugged in his Sony® headphones and got to work on the first artist from his list. He murmured a quick thank you to Ivy when she set down his Tea and a complimentary pastry to go with it.

He distractedly sipped his cup of English Breakfast tea as he listened to some grunge artist breathe heavily into the microphone, and tried not to cringe at the new taste of lemon rind or the breath currently assaulting his ears. He was supposed to be on a health kick and a vacation starting yesterday and it was so far proving to be...difficult. His business partner had insisted that he kick the coffee addiction as well as the liquor one, and take a couple of days for himself. So far, he’s still in the same goddamn state he was when Jimmy suggested he take a break and tried many types of the leaf juice as a result. Not all of them were in poor taste and he ultimately decided to settle on the English staple. It had a full taste and a richness that reminded him of expensive whiskey. The flavor had some light floral undertones, and when blended with milk, it produced an aroma similar to warm toast and honey. Although it was tolerable, he might even say enjoyable, it did nothing to help the endless plethora of inspiration that his mind continuously created and nurtured in others but had been rendered moot since his last emerging artist.

Blake sat staring at a list of names and a stack of tapes. His calloused fingertips ghosted over the worn records. Many of these audio tapes held an artist’s dreams. He can imagine how many hours it took to make them, how many no’s it took to discard them. He listened to each one. Twice. And felt nothing. He took another sip of his tea and...nothing. He needed just one to spark anything within him. Just one and he would make somebody’s life change for the better.

His eyes strayed to the cinnamon and raisin bagel resting neatly on its napkin, then to Ivy as he watched her at another table. He still felt nothing once his eyes returned back to the last tape he ejected until  _ something  _ hit him, quite forcefully, physically jostling him. He was taking off his headphones when something sopping wet hit his shoulder and table, knocking the wood off kilter until its legs finally balanced themselves back on the floor. The page of names that he’d written on parchment were already stained with tea.

His head whipped over to the culprit and he found himself staring at a drenched girl.

“I’m really sorry. My friend—” She turned to look over her shoulder at a young man. His skin was an ochre color, much like the mellow-brown light that bathed the forest. “—he pushed me on accident.” Her voice was light yet breathy, like she had been laughing. 

And when he turned his gaze back to her, properly this time, without interruption, any reassuring words halted and ran across his dry tongue, back down his hoarse throat. He stood up, causing the girl to move a couple of inches back in order for her to stare at him without having to crane her neck.

Her hair was a warm umber, richened by several tawny-beige strands. He paid close attention to her roots, the colours of chestnut and nutmeg. He couldn't tell which was her natural hair colour but it fit her well. Her smooth, polychromatic tresses fell naturally to her shoulders as her bangs were side-swept over her left eye making her look incredibly soft to the touch—as did the onyx eyeliner and pink gloss on her lips.

She wore tight, dark-plaid, pants with a red belt wrapped tightly around her slim waist and this white crop top that showed off her flat stomach. Her ballet shoes were scarlet and flaming in the premature light.

Blake blinked. “What?”

“I—I didn't mean to bump into you. I'm sorry about your tea.” She gestured to the half empty cup and stained paper.

Blake looked down at the table incredulously, before regaining his bearings. “Don’t worry about it.”

Her irises were the color of maple sugar and everything about the way she looked at him was sweet.

“Gwen. Come on, Eric’s waiting for us.” Her friend voiced from behind.

“Sorry again.” She said softly before turning to walk away from him.

He frowned and turned back to his work. He ripped the soiled page from its home and crumpled it up.

None of them were good enough for Jimmy anyways.

  
  


Page 2

 

_ [Insert stage name here] is the epitome of someone with daddy issues. She exudes a dark charm and yet carries this light, playfulness that reminds you of an innocent child. [Still no stage name, surprising] shoulders the burden of a depraved, lonely, dark, and dependent on men persona that very few manage to make their own, let alone, unique. Her sound is rare, her beauty unprecedented; [what the fuck I'm losing it I need a goddamn name already] has a voice that takes you back decades. There's only one woman who can make you feel like you are living in a vintage past. Interscope® would like to invite the people to the land of Gods and Monsters. Please welcome, [Jimmy is going to kick your ass if you don't come up with a name, dipshit]. _

Blake sighed and leaned back against his desk chair. He ran a hand down his face and into his curls.

He had been writing Elizabeth’s welcome letter for her debut album for what felt like hours. The words weren't hard to come by, not at all. Elizabeth Grant was a masterpiece in every sense of the word. She was a true talent, an honest writer, and an incredible singer, but Elizabeth Grant didn't want to be on the title cover. She wanted a name that encompassed her dark and beautiful melodies. A name she struggled to come up with. A name Blake was given the task to create alongside her. It was frustrating as hell.

Giving himself another thirty minutes or so to think (which really turned into him just flicking his ear back and forth with a dull pencil), Blake prepared to retire for the night with a glass of vodka (screw what Jimmy thought) and the rest of his sanity, when the landline rang. Despite the semi-late hour, he smiled at the interruption, knowing it could only be either of two people.

“Yeah?” He answered.

“Boone! I got a huge favour to ask.”

“And I can't wait to say no to it.”

“You’re a funny man.”

Blake chuckled. “What do ya want?”

“I need you to go down to The Roxy Theatre and check out a band for me.”

“Right now?”

“No, a year from now. Yes, right now. Their set starts in an hour.”

“Jimmy...I was just getting ready for bed.”

“Don't say tragic stuff like that to me. You make me want to feel sorry for  _ myself _ . It's ten o’clock, Boone.”

“I'm aware of the time jackass.”

“Good, then you know you got a half an hour to get down there.”

“I thought I was on vacation.”

“Notice how that didn't sound like a question.”

Blake smiled. “You giving me privilege with this band?”

“I trust you."

“That's a first.”

“Don't make it a last.”

“Will do.”

Jimmy hung up first, and Blake sighed. He rubbed his hands down his face roughly before moving to stand. He needed a shower and maybe another drink to get him through the night.

 

Page 3

 

“Flowers, sex, death...I think they're all connected.”

Blake hummed at his driver’s musings as he looked out the window. “You buy flowers for a girl just to have sex with her and you buy flowers just to put someone in the ground and make their grave look pretty.”

He caught the odd look Sebastian sent his way, but chose to ignore it, in favour of watching the small theatre abuzz with activity draw closer. People were milling about outside before the show began, enjoying the last few moments of warmth before the night cooled down substantially. Sebastian pulled up to the curb and let him out with a big smile.

“When should I be back for you?”

Blake handed him a couple of bills. “I'm thinking maybe...two hours from now?”

Sebastian nodded and Blake shut the door on his long face.

He made his way through the crowd into the foyer to the windowed ticket office. A huge man with an even more huge smile greeted him.

"Boone, long time no see. We thought you went Hollywood on us.” 

“Hey, Sam.”

“Where you been?”

“On Jimmy’s leash.”

Samuel laughed, his big blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “You here to see the kids?”

“Is that what they are? Jimmy didn't give me much.”

“Well the girl is the youngest. But she's cute. Maybe too sweet and innocent for the industry.”

“I like sweet.”

“Don't catch a case.”

Blake belted out a laugh that even surprised him. “Sam, I’ve missed you.”

“Don't tell my wife. She's a jealous woman.” He winked.

“A beautiful woman.”

“Ok, maybe I'm the jealous one.”

Blake smirked. “Nice to see ya again, Sam. Kiss the kids for me.”

“Yes sir. Have fun in there, and go easy on them.”

“No promises.” He trailed off as he turned to go inside, waving his hand when Samuel yelled a goodbye.

Inside, he ordered a whiskey sour, following the small crowd into the black box theater. A table for almost-two sat empty in the second row, so he helped himself, tipping back a sip of the liquor as a familiar face greeted the crowd.

“Please welcome to The Roxy Theatre...No Doubt.”

Blake sat back with a satisfied grin. He took his second sip of whiskey as the band, dressed in simple street clothing, came out and went to their specific spots. The stage was still dark, and the entire room was quiet.

It wasn't until the lights focused and the first note sounded that Blake felt his heart constrict.

 

_ You’re always tellin’ me to go out more _

_ Go ahead, get out and see the world.  _

_ But then I think, why should I  _

_ I rather stay home and cry  _

 

The girl (what the hell was her name again) had stepped into a pale white spotlight, lovely and so fucking different from the first time he laid eyes on her. She was singing, and it was a haunting feeling that crept over him. A soothing sound, yet troubling. 

 

_ I never thought that I could be the other  _

_ The other way like the other ones _

_ Let me open wide, let you see inside _

_ And then you might agree _

 

He had no idea how she did it, but hearing her voice transition from girly, innocent, to sultry, powerful, made him elated. The way she modulated and controlled those shifts were mesmerising. Her voice danced with the lyrics and it was a picture she painted well. Even her command of the crowd was enchanting, her demeanor magnetic.   
  
Blake saw it all: when she was in the back, when she was in front, stage left, stage right, when she flitted off-stage and when she fluttered back on. 

Blake followed her every move and still couldn't believe the girl who had bumped into him a week ago was suddenly up there right before his eyes, delivering a performance he hadn't seen since Stevie Nicks stumbled into his studio.

  
_ Without you I can move _

_ I can stretch my arms out, I can feel it _

_ And when I’m in my room alone I feel good _

_ Because I don't have to deal with you or the outside world _

 

Blake couldn't think of any other artist that felt and sounded like she was from a life he never lived, decades ago. And for her to be so young, harnessing all that talent, that pain like she’s seen the worst of the world through a heartbreak...it reminded him of those artists that pushed limits and ultimately paved the way for something new. And in this industry, that was a goldmine. 

Blake was watching the future of music.

His hand shook as he raised his glass to his mouth, realising he had the power to sign them, make them or break them. He was going to make a lot of people filthy rich, and there wouldn't ever be any doubt about this band's talent and commercial success.

Without a moment’s hesitation, as soon as the band’s set was finished, Blake headed backstage. Warm from the whiskey but drunk off that voice alone, he gave the custodian a goofy grin as he passed him along the way.

And then, from behind the performance curtain, "I don't know Tony. Maybe the speaker was on low." There was a pause and then, "He is…I'll go get him.”

Blake waited patiently as she emerged from behind the crimson drapes, reveling in the gentle gasp that escaped from her soft, talented lips. "It's you."   
  
He looked down at her with a slight grin; loving her speaking voice almost as much as her singing one. Her distinct voice hadn't left his thoughts since he first heard it.   
  
"It's you." He replied simply. 

She was wearing a white skirt over heart printed tights. It was a pink belt this time wrapped around her small waist. Another short, white, tank top to accompany the assemble with black and white striped socks with little orange bows on the outside of both. He wanted to laugh at the purple shoes, and the white bow in her beautiful wavy hair but he was too enthralled with the attitude of the outfit, the way she pulled it off just fine.

Who was this girl?

“Listen. You’re gonna be a star in six years.”

She stared at him, clearly disbelieving. It was several moments of silence before she blinked. “Ok, first of all, I’m gonna have like ten kids by the time six years comes around and I won't be doing this still and um...who are you? And why six years, that's a weird number.”

“I’m Blake Shelton. I co-founded Interscope® records. And it’s impossible to have ten kids in six years.” He produced a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “You will still be doing this because this is who you are and more people need to hear this—you. And six years to be ready. You’re not ready.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need to learn how to write music.”

“We write all our songs.”

“I didn't say songs. I said music.”

“Is there a difference?”

“The fact that you even need to ask proves to me you’re not ready. But you will be.”

There was a tinge of pink underneath her cool, pale skin and Blake couldn't tell if it was leftover from her performance or the beginnings of her flustering.

“What's your name?”

“Gwen. Gwen Renée Stefani.”

“That’s gonna be a household name one day.”

Gwen’s eyes were fixed on him with an air of incredulity deep in them. They fell silent, in this incredible, unspoken bubble of hope and meaning. Until her name was called from somewhere backstage, taking them both out of it.

“You’re special. Call me in a week and you’ll see.”

“See what?”

“Your potential.”

Her name was yelled again, louder this time.

“I should probably go now," She murmured, avoiding his face. "It was nice to meet you."

She didn't give him a chance to say anything in return, as she retreated abruptly, quickly. Blake’s blue eyes glued to her waning back, a beacon of incandescent light shining through the dreariness of the onerous music industry, but too unreachable to shine a ray into his own life.

Some people were just like that, unobtainable. They were usually the ones people labeled legends and icons.

Blake ran a hand through his curls.

It’d be worth it in the end.


	2. You2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, this one is longer thank god! There's a couple of songs that you should probably listen to as the scene plays out just to be there in the moment. The first one is sleep like a baby tonight by U2 and the second is what's going on by Marvin Gaye. Hope you guys like it and if you have any concerns or questions or criticisms let me know :(:):

Page 4

 

“Table for one, sir?” One of the immaculately dressed maître d’s asked. 

“Iovine party,” Blake corrected him.

“Of course, sir,” The man smiled decorously, picking up a menu and leading the way through the fairly busy terrace restaurant.

The air was sweetly warm, perfumed by planters filled with exotic flowers and natural sea salt spray from the ocean. The palm trees shivered as a soft breeze filtered in. He was seated at Jimmy’s table next to the low, inlaid cerulean pool at the centre of the restaurant, beneath the white canopies stained gold by the genial lighting. The small fountain rustled softly behind him.

“Boone,” Jimmy greeted loudly, standing up from his perch at the top of the table. He was dressed rather over dramatically for a meeting, Blake thought, considering the pastel and bright colours of the other guests, in an expensive suit cut in different shades of black and dark grey. Blake was dressed in faded blue jeans and a black button down. 

Jimmy pulled him into a side hug as he casually raised a hand to the waiter, signaling him to wait.

“The Domaine Leflaive,” He said, handing over the wine menu; the waiter nodded and left without a word.

Only two hundred and twenty dollars a bottle, Blake thought with a smile. “You sure know how to treat a guy.” 

Jimmy patted his face before returning to his seat, gesturing to the one on his right for Blake. “We’ll talk business after drinks.”

“And pleasure after dessert,” Blake recited as he relaxed down into the chair and opened his menu.

He continued flicking through the pages while occasionally greeting some of the guests at the table, which consisted of partners and friends. He wasn’t really hungry, the heat tended to drastically lower his appetite, but he would find something for the sake of pretense. When he heard footsteps approach he assumed it was the waiter returning with their wine. Instead he looked up to find someone sitting down in the chair across from him.

“Stevie.”

She kept her enticing smile directed at him even after blowing him a kiss. “Can you believe the quality of soaps nowadays in restrooms? I feel like they add another layer of skin instead of washing the one away.” Speaking of, the pallor of her skin seemed less pronounced by the colours and patterns of her wardrobe. Everything about her appeared immaculate, from hair to clothes to well manicured fingernails. It was so incredibly her that Blake smiled when he thought of the young singer standing in her bathroom mirror frantically getting the assemble perfect.

“I hate the way they make my hands smell like lavender. A grown man should not smell like a—”

“Please don't even finish that sentence, Jimmy.” She interrupted.

The waiter arrived with the wine, and the executive put his own glass forward without a word, still studying the musician. The waiter didn't hesitate pouring a swill into the offered glass. “I was gonna say something completely appropriate and inoffensive for your information.”

“That's a first.” Bono said from beside Blake, and the producer snorted, rejecting the offered wine in succession.

Stevie and Jimmy just looked at each other coyly, albeit discreetly. But Blake didn’t miss the blackening bruise barely hidden beneath Jimmy’s shirt collar as he sipped the deep yellow wine, or the twist to his lips when Stevie leaned closer to him as he swallowed.

“I don't think they try to hide it anymore,” Bono whispered without hesitation, “I just wish she’d think this through. There's no hope for Jimmy but Nicki knows better.”

“She worships the ground he walks on,” Blake replied quietly, closing his menu after randomly choosing something that sounded half way decent, “I think they’re two people who are right for each other but the time to be together is never going to be right for them.”

“You sound like a romance novel,” Bono uttered, making Blake’s casual demeanor waver as he chuckled softly.

“And this is where I make one of the characters gay.” Blake grabbed Bono’s face and 

tried to kiss him on the cheek but Bono swatted at his hands and held him off, laughing as Blake finally gave up and pouted. “I thought we had something special Bon.”

“You’re an idiot.” His lips slid into an irritated but joyful smile.

Jimmy cleared his throat. “If the boyfriends are done, and the drinks are empty, I want to talk about the artist pool. Levi will go first after we order.”

The table fell silent as the waiter returned as if on command. Everyone placed their orders rather quickly and Blake requested a vodka tonic to start.

“Make that two.” Stevie interrupted. Blake gave her a disapproving look but let her have her drink.

“I’ll take the lamb.” He said.

“Borlotti bean and ricotta cheese cannelloni okay to go with it, Sir?”

“Caloni what?” Blake blanked.

“Jesus Boone, it's good, just say yes.” Jimmy ordered.

Blake looked at the waiter cautiously. “That's fine.”

The server nodded and turned to Bono. “And for you, Sir?”

“He’ll have the grilled sea bass with salsa and vegetables.” Blake ordered for him unconsciously, already getting what he ordered every time they came here.

The server nodded and Stevie looked at him amused. “You two really are like boyfriends.”

Bono and Blake rolled their eyes together. “We order for each other all the time.” Bono said.

“I think it's cute the way you know exactly what the other wants.”

“It's called being best friends.” Blake pointed out. “You should get one sometime.”

“Look all I’m saying is that everyone is rooting for you guys if you want to just come on out now.”

The table snickered at Stevie’s comment.

“We’ll come out as soon as your next hit does.” Bono said into his glass.

Against his better judgement, Jimmy laughed with everyone. It was short and fast but seemed to, at the very least, wipe the smile from Stevie’s face.

“You’re an asshole.” She got up from the table and left, presumably, back to the restroom.

Blake shook his head. It was a low blow, considering Stevie hadn't had a hit since her duet with Bruce Hornsby. But she was also young, and quick to hurt feelings.

“That went well.” Blake murmured.

Bono shrugged it off, used to his love/hate relationship with the queen of rock. She was like his little sister in that way.

Jimmy set his drink down, clearly bothered by Stevie's abrupt departure. “Levi.” He called.

The young talent scout was quick to swallow his martini and begin to talk about the new lineup of possible signings.

That was the way the rest of the meal went. Business, artists, music, money, and more business. Stevie came back to the table right when the food came out and everyone put a momentary lag in the conversation in favour of eating and continuing their little side chats.

“How was the theatre last night?” Jimmy asked.

Blake smeared some lamb onto his fork as he answered. “You heard their tape right? I want to sign them but they’re not ready.”

Jimmy nodded. “That's what I thought but I wanted you to see them in person. See if they have the stage presence.”

“Who was it?” Bono inquired.

“Some band called No Doubt. They remind me of you actually. Well, the lead singer does. There's just something about her. She draws a crowd in and keeps them there even after she’s done singing. And she does that thing that you do. Where she doesn't sing at you or even to you. She sings  _ with  _ you.”

“She sounds like a potential mot.” Bono grinned, patting him on the back at the same time to thank him for the subtle compliment.

“English, Bon.”

“Girlfriend, Boone.”

Blake laughed at the mild look Jimmy gave him. “It's not like that. She's too young anyways and we are gonna sign them eventually.” He shook his head, trying to appease Jimmy. The older man had an absolute zero tolerance policy for dating any of the artists which was also so very funny to Blake seeing as how the executive had been pounding Stevie into a mattress for over a year.

“Speaking of signing them, don't wait too long. Help them get to wherever they need to be if you have to.” Jimmy cut through his musings.

Blake set his fork down. “I'm glad you said that actually because I want you to give me the money to buy them an 8 track recorder.”

He heard a whistle from one of the patrons at the table but didn't care where or who it came from.

Jimmy stared at him. “Blake…”

Jimmy only called him by his actual name when he thought the younger man was thinking, saying, or doing something potentially stupid.

“They know how to write it. But they don't know how to make it. Their music is good but it could be great.”

Jimmy still looked at him like he had lost half his mind. “Am I missing something? Did you see or hear something that I didn't?”

“I heard something  _ different _ .” Blake pleaded with his eyes but remembered who he was talking to and looked down. “And profitable.” He said, staring at his own food.

“I'm assuming you want the best.” Jimmy told him and Blake nodded, fingers still crossed under the table.

His partner took the last sip of his wine, before shaking his head. “Their first album better be number one.” Jimmy said matter-of-factly.

Blake took it for what it was and smiled.

He got their mailing address a day later and shipped it out, expecting it to be there by next Friday.

A week from now.

 

Page 5

 

“Sean, beer?” Sting drummed on the younger Lennon’s shoulders, and he nodded. “Robert, you’re cut off.” He pointed to his protege. 

About fifteen seconds after Sting had left the table, the lights went dim. Someone carrying a tray of glassware tripped and the sound of breaking glass filled the brief bubble of silence. A lot of people clapped and someone yelled, “Opa!” Which started a whole bunch of cheers.

Robert and Bruce both snickered beside Blake.

“Twenty bucks that was Sting’s fault.”

“Not touching that,” Jon chuckled, shaking his head.

Blake took the bet, and took a sip of his beer while the guy up on stage strummed a diminished chord, an E flat minor, and then jumped into song followed by a hail of drumbeats. Sting came back to the table and noisily set his tray of drinks down.

“Bloody hell, did you see that guy take out the woman with the tray?” He said, laughingly.

Bruce swore and handed Blake a twenty dollar bill across the table.

Robert groaned. “Damn it.”

Sting realised they bet on him and made a face at his pupil. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Blake tipped his beer and pocketed the bill, attention pinging between the coaxing blues flooding off the stage, Sean and Robert’s hushed discussion about weed, and the low rumbling din of background noise coming from the rest of the dingy club.

He looked down at his flip phone for a second and recognised the dim screen lighting up with a call. Blake slid off the stool and grabbed the device.

“Where are you going?” Sting shouted.

He waved a hand vaguely at his phone and turned to walk through the crowded floor. The cool night air opened up around him, snuffing out the cacophony of the club as the door swung shut.

“Yeah?”

“Um, is this Blake Shelton?”

The girl’s voice sounded familiar but it was so quiet he couldn't place it exactly.

“It is.”

“Hi...it’s Gwen. Gwen Renée Stefani.”

Blake’s eyes widened, clearly surprised. Then he smiled, loving the way she felt the need to say her whole name with him. “The next household name, I remember. How are you?”

“I’m good, I guess.” Blake can imagine her shrugging in that moment, offering him a shy smile he can't see. “We got your gift. I wanted to call you earlier but I thought you’d be busy...”

Blake sat down on the bottom step that feeds up from the back alley into the club. “I'm never busy for my artists.” 

“Is that what we are?” Gwen asked, smiling, hopeful.

Blake laughed, forcing himself not to lead her down the path of incorrect assumptions. “Is that what you want to be?”

“I wanna be a big star.”

Without missing a beat, Blake said, “And you will be.”

A moment of silence hung between them before he heard her exhale. “I guess I should be thanking you for the recorder. My brother was so excited when he realised what it was.”

A small smile stretched across his face. “Use it well. Make good music with it.”

“We will.” After another slight pause, she continued. “Well I guess that's all I called for…”

“Gwen.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanna invite you and the guys out to a recording session.”

“Are you sure?” She said without thinking.

Blake laughed. “Yes I'm sure.”

“Ok!” She exclaimed.

“Alright.” He chuckled. “I’ll have my assistant send you the date and address.”

“Oh my god.” She thought out loud. “This is seriously happening.”

He hummed.

“Do we have to bring anything?”

“Your songs mostly. We have all the instruments and equipment.”

“Ok.” She repeated, suddenly less enthusiastic.

“Gwen, there's nothing to be afraid of. You’re amazing. You’ll do fine.” He let her contemplate for a moment longer. “I’ll tell you what, you let me worry about your nerves and you can worry over mine.”

“What do you have to be nervous about?”

“You’d be surprised.”

She snorted out a laugh and Blake grinned. “Well tell me so I can worry about it for you.”  

His grin fell. “I—well I…” He started, considering his words as he turned his gaze toward the cars passing each other on the street. “I worry that I’ll never make any music of my own.”

He listened to her even breathing for what felt like centuries, until finally, “It must feel weird helping other people make stuff all the time and not ever knowing if you’ll make anything for yourself.”

Blunt but not purposefully hurtful, like a devastated lover, Blake thought. He stood up. “I have to go. Goodnight, sweetheart.” He didn't hear her response as he wretched the phone from his ear and closed it, walking back inside the club and over to the bar for some liquor. If he was going to allow a kid to read his insecurities back to him like a fuckin book then he needed a drink. Or two.

 

Page 6

 

Blake stared at the album back cover art with a scrutinizing gaze. It had been something like the portrait of Dorian Gray for him, like experiencing the ugliest reality of himself that would eat him alive and stop his heart if he let it; the way his money was another physical apparition of himself, the way it engulfed him willingly, ran itself poisonously through his veins and into his still beating heart, where the real stuff—the music—lived. Maybe he would have let it if it hadn’t been for the fear and insecurities. Like he described before, he was a light man. The only heavy thing about him was his heart and it anchored him more often than it weighed him down. 

“Do you like it?” Elizabeth asked in that melodic voice of hers. They had been standing side-by-side and looking at it—so much evidence of his fragility splayed before him that it was almost criminal and since she was the one to design it, making both her hands red as well with murder.

“Why am I in it? This is your album.” He replied.

“You’re in it because you found me. There’s three songs on the record about you. Being a beautiful friend, a wonderful distraction.” She looped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder.

“And the third one?” He asked. Blake hadn't heard the entire album because it was yet to be finished.

“A reminder of who I don't want to end up like when it's all said and done. No offense.”

He chuckled, understanding exactly where she was coming from. Some days he didn't want to be himself either.

“I’ll ask again. Do you like it?”

His verdict, “Am I that wide through the shoulders?”

She laughed, and he decided it was the right thing to say.

“Sit with me at the piano.” He suggested.

“I have to leave in a few.”

He gave her a look and she smiled. “Ok.”

He played around a bit, easing off the few times she went to try a melody out for herself. When she signaled him to take over, he stretched his right arm around her body and relaxed when she leaned into his side and watched him play. Sometime in the middle of his right-handed rendition of one of Rachmaninoff’s piano sonatas his phone started ringing in the next room. Blake didn’t hear it, but Elizabeth did. She tapped on the wrist tapping the keys madly and angled her head to the kitchen.

He answered just as Elizabeth started fiddling around a familiar fugue on the piano.

“Yeah?”

“Blake? The car you sent is pulling up to a house and I don't think it's the right address because it’s clearly not a studio and we’re not sure what to do because we’re already late as it is and—”

Blake sputtered a laugh and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Gwen you’re in the right place.”

“We are?”

“Mhm.” There was a coy lilt to the syllable. He was sure she could hear the smirk behind it. “This is my house. I have a studio here.”

Gwen laughed, embarrassed and pleased. “You didn’t tell me that part.”

“No I didn’t,” Blake chuckled. “Tell your band mates it's ok and come inside. There's someone dying to meet you.”

“Me?”

“Yup.”

“Ok.” She said softly, hanging up the phone much the same way.

Blake lowered his and rubbed his thumbs over the small screen aimlessly. He walked back into the den to find Elizabeth lying down on the couch with Betty, his small black and toffi dog, on her stomach. The bottle of rosé was on the coffee table next to her song book.

Looking up at him when he walked over she asked, “Other girlfriend on the line?”

“My next contribution to music actually.” He tucked his phone into his pocket and sat on the arm of the couch. Betty perked her head up at his arrival and trotted clumsily over Elizabeth’s shoulder to investigate. He grinned lopsidedly at the dog and scratched her ears.

“Well I have to meet Marshall for dinner.” She sat up.

“Video games Marshall?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth sighed, though she half-wished the answer was no. She looked down to hide her smile, but it was huge and Blake saw it. “I’m gonna thank him one day for the inspiration.”

“Nothing like an ex to sell records.”

She hummed her agreement. Standing up, she leaned down just as quickly to place a chaste kiss on his forehead. “Call me for breakfast some time this week.”

He nodded and watched her walk out to the backyard to say goodbye to their friends.

At the same time, Blake made his way to the front door and opened it. There were two cars in his long driveway and one on the street. Sebastian parked on the other side of the driveway on the curb and turned off the car. One of the doors opened, and Gwen poked her head out.

The rest of the band filed out one by one. They looked around his vast estate with a mixture of emotions and Blake spotted a solemn look on Gwen’s face as they made their way up the driveway. But her face brightened at the sight of him. And he loved the way she looked at him, with an expression of wonder and delight.

In return, his look said, there you are in the simplest, most familiar way that he knew how to project. He licked his lips and barely registered his guests silently making their way back into the house from behind him. His new artists took a few shaky steps the closer they drew near, until one of them became confident in his strides, inspiring the rest of them to feel a little more courageous. Gwen came to stand directly in front of him, however, eyes roaming all over his face, until they came to a natural, lilting stop.

“Gwen,” Blake greeted, the word transforming his mouth into a smile as it left his lips.

She grinned, the same hush affecting her voice. “Blake.”

His smile grew.

“These are the guys. That’s Tony, Adrian, Tom, and my brother Eric.”

Blake shook hands with all of them except Eric. When it came time to greet the “leader” of the group, the man’s lips were tugged into a tight smile but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He knew he had his work cut out for him with this one. Blake took his hand strongly, “I gotta a grand in my living room, an upright in one of the guest bedrooms, and an electronic in the studio. Play whichever one you want. The only catch is, I have to be there when you do.”

The man’s smile grew wider, more genuine and his grip slowly lessened.

“You live here?” Eric asked quietly, tilting his head ever so slightly. His eyes truly said nothing, no matter how Blake searched them they stayed indecipherable.

“I do. Blake Shelton. Nice to meet ya’ll.” They finally shook hands properly before letting go. “There’s some people I want you guys to meet.”

He gestured inside with a tilt of his head and held the door open for them. He closed it again gently and grabbed the bouquet of flowers sitting atop the corner table by the stairs before he forgot. He had his assistant, Margo, pick them up on her way to her parent’s house. He called for Gwen and her eyes went straight to it when she turned around, a wide grin blossoming across her face. She was endeared and pleasantly surprised.

Gwen squeezed the plastic between her hands self-consciously, and Blake gave her a warm look.

“Apparently, a sunflower gets its name from its tendency to reposition itself to face the sun. I figured it suited you since you always manage to find some sort of spotlight to shine in.” 

Her cheeks raised and her top lip flattened; she squinted her eyes, like she was trying to make every warm surface on her face disappear, but at the same time, she was smiling. She looked down at the flowers to ponder, a thoughtful expression on her face now. She turned it on him and tilted her head to one side. “What do the blue roses mean?”

“Well, since there are none in nature, they represent mystery and a longing to obtain the impossible. Like anyone starting off in this industry, no one knows who you are. But you do, and if you’re lucky, you know what you want. And sometimes what you want can feel unobtainable but I promise you it's not.” He raised his head to look at all five of them as he spoke, cause as much as the flowers were for Gwen, the meanings behind them were for the entire band if they were serious about their music.

They nodded readily, much to his surprise. Just then, David emerged from the kitchen upon hearing their voices. No Doubt recognised him to be The Edge and immediately looked on in shock.

“You must be the new guppies,” He observed, taking Eric’s hand and shaking it once. He had a good grip, just on the comfortable side of firm. “Heard tons about you, Agra.” He addressed Gwen, calling her love in Irish. “Bono can’t wait to hear you sing.”

Adam emerged from the kitchen, a curious but guarded expression on his face. David was just shaking Adrian’s hand and released it to look over his shoulder.

In a soft but cordial voice, Adam said, “Hello.” 

The band nodded their greetings, still surprised.

“So are those for me? Because honestly, Gwen, you shouldn’t have.” David said.

She looked dumbly at the bouquet in her hands and stammered.

Adam smirked at David, something calm and comfortable settling back over his demeanor.

Blake’s voice was wistful when he told him, “Someone will bring you flowers someday, Dave.” He put a hand on Gwen’s back and lead her out of the sitting room. The others followed as he expected.

The kitchen was empty when they got inside. Blake broke away from Gwen to tuck the flowers into a tasteful vase on the counter.

“Larry went with Bono to the studio,” David told Blake. “He wanted to warm up.”

Gwen buzzed excitedly from beside him.

“Come on.” He lead them down a hallway off the side of the kitchen and down a couple of steps until they reached a door. He opened it and allowed everyone in first. When he shut the door, it was to the sheer emotion of Bono’s voice ringing throughout the studio.

 

_ Morning, your toast _

_ Your tea and sugar _

_ Read about a politician’s lover _

_ Go through the day  _

_ Like a knife through butter  _

 

Everyone was looking at Bono as he played an acoustic version of a song they had never heard before from U2. Blake looked at the room instead. There was usually light coming in through the deep tan slots of the blinds during the day but as the night drew nearer, the air drew darker, casting the room only in what the fireplace light provided as the singer played to its very core. There were dark burgundy drapes framing the windows, but they were let down tonight so they blocked and tinted even the backyard security light. The blinds kept this room private, isolated, and Blake thought how fitting the song and the luminosity were in that moment. 

 

_ You’re gonna sleep like a baby tonight  _

_ In your dreams everything is alright  _

_ Tomorrow dawns like someone else’s suicide  _

_ You’re gonna sleep like a baby tonight _

 

He felt someone’s hand in his and looked over to see Gwen, only she wasn't watching him. Her eyes were still glued to his best friend. The whites were glossy, the hand squeezing his giddy, almost child-like. He wasn't even sure she knew she was holding his hand. 

Blake tugged her along to one of the couches in the room. She swallowed through her smile, still fixated, and went with him to sit down. The others soon followed.

 

_ Dreams _

_ It’s a dirty business, dreaming _

_ Where there is silence and not screaming _

_ Where there’s no daylight _

_ There's no healing, no no  _

 

Gwen looked like a burgundy flame in the darkness. Blake himself looked like a pool of water in his deep blue shirt that stood out in the shadow just like she did, only she needed no help from any attire to do so. It grew warm all of a sudden, and he turned back to the man in the booth to ward of the heat. 

 

_ Hope, hope is where the door is _

_ When the church is where the war is _

_ Where no one can feel no one else’s pain _

 

_ You’re gonna sleep like a baby tonight  _

_ In your dreams everything is alright  _

_ Tomorrow dawns like a suicide _

_ But you’re gonna sleep like a baby tonight  _

_ Sleep like a baby tonight  _

_ Like a bird, your dreams’ll take flight _

_ Like St. Francis covered in light  _

_ You’re gonna sleep like a baby tonight  _

 

The song was like nails on a chalkboard, gritty and piercing, but painful in the sense that the sound and feeling stuck with you even after it was over. It's the kind of song that you would remember the sensation of how it reached your ears whenever someone brought it up. 

The whining of the electric guitar strings where absolutely sensational and it only further proved that Bono always knew what a song needed before the audience did. When the song came to a conclusion, the room erupted in applause, mainly from the No Doubt crew.

Larry said from the door as he breezed into the other room where they all were waiting, “He’s had this song for two years now and he still won't record it.”

The words had burst from Bono as he followed, “It’s not album ready!”

Blake made a face, “Are you sure?”

Gwen turned to look at Blake while Bono busied himself with an explanation and lowered his voice to say, “It’s too raw all by itself. It needs something to soften the edges. You know it.”

Blake opened his mouth to reply but stopped, eyes sliding away from Bono’s face and over to Gwen’s. 

“What do you think it needs?” 

She pointed at herself as if disbelieving he would even ask her opinion in the first place. “Um...I guess—I mean I think it could use some keys.” Her eyes flitted over to the electronic piano in the corner.

She turned back to them and saw Larry approaching with Bono several steps behind him. She stands to shake the former’s hand.

“We’ve genuinely not met yet, hello,” He said, beaming and giving her a firm handshake.

“No,” Gwen agreed. “But we’re all big fans of you guys.”

Larry grinned and took his hand back, stepping to one side so Bono could come forward and shake Gwen’s hand, too.

He studied her, tilting his head one way in preparation for the question Blake could see brewing behind his blue, shining eyes. “Would you like to sing with me?”

Gwen breathed slowly around her smile, trembling in her chest and throat.

“Can my guys play while we do?” She asked quietly.

Bono returned her smile, and Blake could recognize the reciprocity as clearly as if Bono were reaching out and touching her with it. In a way, Blake supposed he was. “We can all play. Boone you too, yeah?”

“Pass from me.” He answered, modestly.

Gwen’s gaze shifted from Bono to him, confusion etched into her expression and then concern. The former from the use of his nickname and the latter from his self deprecation.

“Well he can watch the magic happen then. You lot know Marvin Gaye?” The frontman of U2 lead Gwen and the rest into the studio booth where each person gravitated to their instrument. Tony and Adam on bass, Larry and Adrian both on a drum set, David and Tom on guitar, Eric on keyboard, and of course, Bono and Gwen each with a microphone in their hands. Bono whispered something into David’s ear and before anyone knew it the first strings ran out, followed by the beat of percussions, and then another guitar taking over what would have been a smooth saxophone solo in the back. By then the eclectic, new, band had caught on and the first voice spilled out into the other room, where Blake’s awaiting ear was.

 

_ Mother, mother _

_ There’s too many of you crying  _

_ Brother, brother, brother  _

_ There’s far too many of you dying  _

_ You know we’ve got to find a way _

_ To bring some lovin’ here today _

 

_ Father, father  _

_ We don’t need to escalate  _

_ You see, war is not the answer  _

_ For only love can conquer hate  _

_ You know we’ve got to find a way  _

_ To bring some lovin’ here today _

 

There was a feeling Blake remembered having felt the first time Bono sang for him. The sensation hadn’t gone away all these years, as a result. It was like his voice was tracing the veins on his hands and skin, and Blake could feel him reaching in to find more of him, unspooling the twisted mess just under the surface. It was incredibly intrusive his voice, and against all better judgment, Blake was no longer even slightly unnerved by it. He thought it was his favorite to listen to. Until he heard her sing, once again. 

 

_ Mother, mother, everybody thinks we’re wrong  _

_ Oh, but who are they to judge us _

_ Together we can be strong  _

_ You know we’ve got to find a way  _

_ To bring some lovin’ here today _

 

It’s the fact that she changed the lyrics to suit them, suit  _ her,  _ that had him thrown. They didn't plan this performance, hadn't had the chance to think it out but it didn't matter because she felt the song in that moment enough to make it her own. 

And Blake allowed himself to fall into it. Into the motion of the music, humming along to the tune Bono and Gwen sang, their cry for love becoming his.

 

_ Talk to me _

_ So you can see _

_ What's going on _

  
Gwen effortlessly lead and Bono willingly let her, innately feeling the next note, Gwen’s body and the motion of the song propelling them all together.  Because that's what music does. It's what music is—an ex tension of the thoughts and feelings that leave you speechless and have no words but much meaning.  And here came this girl and she put skin on it and put words to it and Blake still didn’t exactly know what he was seeing. It was the future, yes, but it was unfathomable as well. 

Bono spun them around, lift and fall, as they sang, as music became life between them.

 

_ Tell me what's going on _

_ I’ll tell you what's going on _

  
And the song slowed and stilled and Bono pulled Gwen closer, wrapping a proud and elated arm around her shoulder, the passion for music, for understanding, for expression so strong in one another that they shared, that Blake wondered how in the hell he was still breathing. He wanted that. To make and share memories with someone incredibly and as equally as talented as you so that maybe your life had more than a purpose. It has profundity. 

And then Gwen smiled at him and it immediately lessened his dolor. You could not wipe the smiles off any of their faces and Blake wouldn't want to.

They exited the booth all warm and full of energy. The complete opposite of what Blake was at the moment.

“Did you like it?” Gwen asked, happily.

And Blake wished women he had come to adore would stop asking him that question.

“I loved it. You guys were magical.”

The soft look that came over her face was worth it.

“I could use a drink after that.” Bono hinted not so subtly and made his way back up the stairs and into the kitchen.

And that's where the little party moved to. And once the drinks were made and the fruit cut up and thrown on a plate, the huge sitting room was their next destination and hopefully the last one for the night.  

“I say after we get well and drunk, we get Blake to perform us one of his songs.”

Blake rolled his eyes.

“We should all write a song together.”

Blake looked up over his shoulder where Gwen’s voice had migrated behind the couch. She leaned down over the back and winded her arms around Eric’s front. Her chin dropped onto his shoulder and from that vantage point she gave Blake a big, happy smile. Eric moved both hands to hold her arms in place and turned to kiss her cheek.

It was impossible not to smile at them, especially when Gwen gave him a conspiratorial look and calculatedly probed Eric’s ribs with her fingers. He jolted in response and blindly reached overhead, maybe for her shoulder or her neck. Blake laughed along with the others and didn’t move out of the way quickly enough to avoid having Gwen fall on him when Eric pulled her over the back of the couch.

“Just imagine Jimmy’s face if we all wrote a song together,” David said, chuckling.

Gwen was slack at first and very light. Her legs were thrown out over Blake’s lap, in a heap and then crossed neatly at the ankles. She giggled—there was actually no other way to describe how she asked it, “Who’s Jimmy?” 

Blake shook his head, “The man who will actually make you a star or not. He's the head of Interscope®.”

Gwen nodded her head from where it was laid upon her brother's chest as she leant back. Her legs shifted just a brief moment on top of him as she moved one to rest it against the back of the couch, but her foot accidentally brushed his side, causing him to jump in response. Everyone looked at him strangely before realising what had happened.

“Oh my god, you’re ticklish too?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, what a load of piss.” Bono scoffed, sitting down on the arm of Blake’s plush armchair, next to Adrian. “There’s also a spot on the back of his neck that—”

“Bon,” Blake stopped him.

“Did I say on the back of his neck? I actually meant his feet.”

“Paul David Hewson.”

He laughed, leaning sideways to drape his arm across Adrian’s shoulder, which the younger lad excitedly relished in.

“You didn’t even mention his knees! If you’re gonna blast him do it right.”

Smiling, Gwen asked Blake, “Your knees are ticklish?” 

“I will murder you, David.”

“Oh, you’ve been saying that for years, Boone.” David dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

“Wait, I have a question?” Gwen actually raised her hand up in the air.

Bono laughed, shooting Blake an entertained look.

“Why do they call you Boone?”

He grinned at his best friend. “It's a long story.”

“Not really.” Bono countered.

Blake gave him a dirty look. “It's stupid really. Um...well you know Stevie Nicks right?” No doubt practically spluttered at the mention of her name so he took that as a yes. “Okay, well, I was producing her Bella Donna album and we were working on the song leather and lace. And of course, Don Henley was there and Stevie and so far it was going good, right. But I just couldn't shake the feel like it was missing something. So at the recording studio there's all these instruments and microphones laying around. And I went searching for something, I didn’t even know what but I found this vintage boom mic. And I thought, why not? So we used this boom mic to make the sound crispier and nostalgic. So cut to the album release party at Jimmy’s. Everyone heard the story about the microphone and I started getting called the boom guy as a joke. So when I got there, Stevie was already tipsy and when she came to say hi to me, she tried to call me her boom producer but instead of saying boom, she said Boone. And it stuck...and now here we are.”

“That's actually really awesome.” Eric was shaking his head as if in disbelief.

Blake shrugged, and outside of their bubble, vaguely, he heard Tony, Tom, and Larry having a conversation separate from their own. He was glad everyone was getting along nicely. “There's too many weird and talented people in the music industry for you not to have stories like that.”

Bono agreed with him. Blake looked over to Gwen and saw a calm smile already directed at him.

“Like now.” She said quietly.

His heart pounded one too many times.

Bono stood after a moment, so Blake stood, too, to see them out knowing Bono liked his sleep before a long day in the recording studio, and to get away from the emotions that Gwen made him feel.

“I guess we should get going to.” Eric said. Gwen sprouted up from the couch and ran into the kitchen, coming out a minute later with the vase of flowers. He smiled.

Blake checked his watch his mama gave him as he followed them out into the hallway. He hung back in the foyer while the two bands said their farewells.

“Under different circumstances we’d stick around and give Boone a hard time all night, and let you have a chance to eat some of David’s famous cheese dip.” Bono said to Gwen as he took her hand for the second time that night. He winked, “Circumstances will be different next time.”

“This time was perfect,” She murmured, quietly.

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“The scruffy one,” Bono pointed to Blake and wrapped him up in a quick, solid hug. He huffed a laugh, returned the embrace and smiled when Bono turned over to kiss his hair on his way out.

“Be good.”

“You first.”

He shook hands with the rest of U2 and No Doubt before landing on Gwen. She was the last to say her goodbyes and Blake thought that might make things at least a bit stilted between them. But rather the smile on her face grew and she gave him a quick hug that he almost didn't have time to respond to.

“Bye, Blake.” She sang.

“Bye, Gwen.”

He smiled and waved when she glanced his way over her shoulder on her way down the drive. Bono was bent at the waist leaning into the opened window of the car Blake had procured for the band to pick them up and take them home, still talking to Eric in his driveway. Tony turned to receive Gwen when she made her way over.

The way the boy looked at her, touched her gently as he helped her into the car, bothered him. He couldn't place the feeling of discomfort so he shut the door on it.

He walked back to his sitting room and downed the last of his vodka. He sat there with the television on all night. He didn't speak, not even to himself. He didn’t need to speak. The sunlight eventually filtered in through the blinds, muffled, warming everything it touched. Everything was warm and soft; everything was perfect. The longer he repeated it the more he believed it.


	3. Dance with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> parents can be the worst. I got grounded for three weeks, no electronics, no phone, no life basically, until today. Sorry about the lack of updates I feel terrible. But my dad just gave me back my stuff and I so rushed to get this posted. This is where things start to pick up. And a lot is going on with Blake in this chapter as far as emotion wise and there's a lot that needs to be explained but that will gradually happen as the story progresses. There's a lot of songs in this chapter, if you want to listen to them as the scene unfolds, that would be great. Of course, you read it the way you want I just think it helps to capture the mood. The songs are listed in order:  
> You don't know me -Cindy Walker  
> Nobody in his right mind would've left her -Keith Whitley  
> Unloveable -The Smiths  
> One -U2  
> Be my baby -John Lennon  
> Mind Games -John Lennon  
> You look so good in love -George Strait  
> Over the rainbow -Jevetta Steele
> 
> As always, I hope you like the words and please let me know what you like or don't like about it. :(:):

Page 7

 

Dorothy Shelton had seen him peel the wet clothes from his flesh many times as a child, when him and Richie would stay outside all day long and play. When they would bring home various insects and animals and Endy would whine and scream at the sight of them until she too finally joined in on the fun. Dorothy Shelton had seen him scared, when the monsters were under the bed and in the closet. She had seen him bloody, seen him bruised, seen him smile through the pain. She had seen him happy, seen him in love.  

But she had never seen him cry.

His hair was disheveled and dried tear marks burned the flesh below his eyes. He tried to fix his hair but the curls laid flat in the humid Oklahoma weather, limp across his ears, hanging down his forehead.

He stood on her doorstep completely broken. It was early morning, the sky still dark when she answered his knock.

Her eyes softened the moment they fell on him.

He tried to smile but his eyes were too sad. He couldn't stop his hands from reaching out to her, all desperate and raw as she took him in her arms. When he pulled away, he looked down at her, pleading. Like she could solve any problem in the world. And when she looked at him like that, like the sun set lovingly all because of his existence, he felt like she could.

“Mom.”

Her lips pinched and her eyes darkened and that wrinkle by her mouth formed. He grabbed her wrist as she turned to let him in. “Mama I'm sorry.”

He could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his. His grip tightened. She caressed his face lovingly, holding back tears of her own. “Your brother is in the kitchen.”

He leaned away from the door frame and nodded, sniffling as he wiped a hand down his face and into his hair. It was humid outside, but still cool. The air huddled in clouds of mist over the lawn. He shouldn’t have come back home, not now, not like this; he knew that, but he also knew it would have disappointed Dot if he didn't.

“I’ll get you some coffee.” She offered, knowingly.

“With whiskey,” He added gruffly, and allowed his mother to usher him in, holding one of his hands while he picked up his bag with the other.

As soon as his feet hit tawny carpet he instantly felt out of place, like he didn't belong, but more so like he never felt whole enough to try. That was the problem with any home. The one you come from and the one you live through. He never liked the part of leaving, but he disliked assimilating even more.

After settling his stuff in a guest bedroom, Blake went down to greet his brother. Richie looked better than he did, considering he was closer to their father than Blake was. They all situated on the couch and Dorothy gave him that strong cup of coffee, which he drank quickly.

“When’s the funeral?” He asked.

“Tomorrow,” She said.

“You had a fight.”

“Yes.”

Blake fiddled with the empty glass, drumming his fingers on the sides until he stood and poured himself some more. It was expensive whiskey. He probably bought it. 

“About her?”

“Blake stop.” Richie commanded.

The whiskey tasted better and better the more he drank. He tilted his head to look at him. There was a part of him that just wanted to mess him up, to hit him. He sat down in his father’s recliner. “Well I can’t stay after. Me and Jimmy got a lot going on with the label right now.”

Richie’s hand went to his face. He rubbed his forehead. “No one expected you to wait around.”

Blake stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His brother shook his head. “Once he's in the ground you can go back to L.A. I’ll take care of mom, like always.”

“That's not fair. You know that’s not fair.”

Richie let out a hiss. It was an ugly sound and Blake drew back on instinct, indignation boiling underneath his skin. “What's not fair about it? You never come home, and that's fine, this is your life. But the least you could do when you are here is stay longer than a night.”

“I do that and I’ll end up like you, I'm sure of it.”

“Boys.” His mother reprimanded.

“You know what? Grow up, Blake.”

“I have grown up.” His heart beat hard in his chest. “I have a job, a good one, something that actually makes a difference in the lives of other people. I have a house. I live by myself. I take care of myself. I handle all the things I'm supposed to.”

“You think your little fancy life in California makes you a big boy?”

“It certainly doesn't make you anything but a high school drop out.”

“Blake!” His mother reached over and grabbed his arm, warning him.

His stomach flipped. Usually it was easy for him to ignore the broken pieces in his family, especially the ones between him and his older brother. Before, he always used to look up to Richie, then he got older, then he learned and grew to resent him, even when he settled for something as mediocre as being a young father. Now, all he wanted was to be looked at like an equal.

“Jesus, Blake. Dad was right when he said you would never be happy.”

Blake rose and slammed the empty glass on the table, startling Dorothy to the point of clutching at her chest, trying to slow her racing heart.

He went for his coat where it hung on a wood rack near the door.

“What are you doing?” Dorothy asked him. “Pumpkin come back here.” 

“Let him go mom.”

“Richie hush! Blake?”

He ignored her as he put on his coat.

“Blake, sweetheart please.”

He heard the tears in her voice but he didn't wish to seem them. He reached for the door but a hand stopped him, grabbing at his wrist and pulling it away from the metal. Squirming out of Richie’s hold, he went for the knob again; Richie moved in front of him.

“Leave me alone.” Blake told him as he tried to push past him.

He held tight to his wrists. His other hand going to Blake’s shoulder. “Stop.”

He wriggled under his grasp, the heat building in his face. What an irritating, insipid, bastard of a brother he had. “Move,” He repeated. But Richie didn’t budge.

Tears formed in his eyes. He pushed him, finally.

“You’re just like dad!” He shouted abruptly. “You know that? You’re just like him.” 

His brother’s fingers tightened to the point of pain. His body was cool, his eyes unperturbed and that’s what bothered him most.

When he started to cry, Richie pulled him into his chest. It’s like that day he left for L.A. Richie’s touch felt unsure, but eventually he found hold just above the broad expanse of his back, hand wrapped tight around his neck.

“Stop crying,” He said quietly.

“He’s gone.” Blake spat out in between breaths. His gut went hot. Weak. It wasn't a feeling he was familiar with; furthermore, it broke him.

Blake breathed in deep, trying to calm himself. Eventually he leaned into Richie and let his hands go to the back of his shirt, holding onto the fabric tightly.

 

Page 8

  
  


His father sipped Orange juice and planned a day he would never live to see. He didn't plan the flowers or the pretty casket and he would never see those either, but Blake didn't much care, sentimentality was a luxury he knew to ignore. 

The funeral was all black clothes and white waxy faces, every one of them with puffy red eyes. If only these people knew the man beneath the hoary face they'd be kicking dirt on his coffin with glee. He didn't linger on the thought for too long. Hell, he had known the old bastard and still loved him, despite everything.

He struggled to hold back the grief; tears flowed steadily, silently down his immobile face. He felt bruised inside, numb, empty, walking behind that mahogany coffin, saying goodbye even though Richard was already gone.

Everyone in black, dusky pink roses on the casket, watching as his father was lowered into the grave through tear-stained eyes.

To leave the cemetery, Blake had to skirt around a pile of brown frosted leaves, the innumerable flashing fragments shining in the brilliant wintry light. Today there was no weather; no wind, no cloud, just a brisk temperature to pass over the morning. Even the leaf stems laid broken and sharp. Ahead the path glistened like white quartz, yet wet dew on weary concrete was all it was. All this beauty over everything dead. And here his father was to add to it.

Blake drove alone back to the house. And before he exited his car, he took his grief and balled it up so tight none of it could escape. He was never allowed to mourn the loss of his father in life, in death it was no different.

He spent one last night in Ada before traveling back to L.A. early that morning, sneaking out the house cowardly to catch his private jet on time. Before he knew it, he was back in the land of dreams, back with the people who had high spirits and low self esteem. That beautiful, bitter air invaded his lungs once again, stinging his eyes with pleasure.

It’s not what he thought he wanted but it was the only thing he could count on.

That sour oxygen everyone breathed.

 

Page 9

 

“It's only been a week. You can take more time if you need to—”

“How's Lizzie doing in the studio?” Blake interrupted.

Margo regained her bearings fairly quickly after the dismissal of her concerns about his well being.

“She found a stage name.”

“And?”

“Lana. Lana Del Rey.”

Blake considered the title before nodding. “It’ll sell. That's all Jimmy’s worried about.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He shuffled some portfolios and tapes around his desk.

“I'm worried about you.”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine.”

“Then I'm ok.”

“Why won't you just admit that you’re not?”

“Margo let it go.”

“No.”

“Margo.”

“Your dad died, Blake!”

His hand slapped down a folder onto the desk before he even registered the movement. The harsh sound rang out through the quiet office. Margo visibly flinched, her body stiffened like a rod. Blake caught the movements out of the corner of his eye and clenched his jaw before taking a deep breath through his nose.

“I need you to let me handle my grief my way. I didn’t like to talk about my father when he was alive, I’m not going to start now that he’s dead. Understand?”

Margo nodded, still avoiding eye contact. Blake sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to—I’m just tired.”

“You don't have to apoligise.”

She sounded nervous and Blake instantly regretted getting sharp with her. He grabbed his wallet off his desk and handed his assistant a couple of twenty dollar bills. “I need you to buy a bouquet of flowers and send them to my mom. There's a shop in Ada, not too far from her address. Get whatever you want, I don't care, just pick one. And buy some for yourself too.”

Margo swallowed. “Sure.” She paused. “Wait, why for myself?”

“My way of saying I'm truly sorry?”

He tried to humour her to lighten up the mood and was glad she gave him a tiny smile in response.

“The flowers I like are expensive.”

“Well then I must be really sorry, then.” He smirked.

Margo laughed and nodded, turning on her heel and exiting his office in a flourish.

Blake finally dropped the forced smile he had been mustering up to save face with everybody. He turned away from the door to stare at his reflection in the window. He was neat and orderly, trimmed hair, white shirt, black slacks and bright, greenish, blue eyes, a hint of sandalwood on his skin, anything to wash off his father’s death from his appearance. He hadn't quite figured out how to rid his heart from the tragedy but vodka and ice were proving fine remedies.

He paged Margo again and a minute later she poked her head in his office.

“You called.”

He walked around the large wooden desk, stopping just in front of it and leaning back, setting either palm on the table behind him. “I’m gonna take the rest of the day off and I also want you to cancel my meetings tomorrow.”

“What?”

“You didn't hear or you didn't understand?”

Margo wiped the confused expression off her face so quickly. “I just meant—Jimmy won't be happy to  _ not _ see you.”

“Jimmy’ll get over it.”

“Of course. Meetings cancelled, flowers bought, anything else?”

He waved her off dismissively, but gave her a soft look in appreciation before picking up his jacket which he’d left hanging on the back of his chair, and following her out.

Sebastian was waiting for him in the parking garage when he took the elevator down. His driver bowed his head in greeting when he drew near.

“Can you take me to Anaheim.”

He opened the door for Blake. “Of course. The Stefani residence?”

Blake nodded and got in. The drive there seemed to depress him further if he was being truly honest with himself. He sat in the backseat, with a bottle of water in his left hand, as if he were waiting for the world to end if it hadn't already. It felt like it did. His eyes were glassy and yet he was not crying. His mouth smiled when Sebastian told him a joke and yet he did not seem happy. Truthfully, if he looked close enough, he knew he simply no longer cared.

That changed as soon as they pulled up to the curb outside Gwen’s house. Blake got out of the stifling car immediately but did nothing else as he leaned against one of the windows. He took a long breath through his nose and held it until it burned.

He had no idea what the hell he was going to say, better yet, what the hell he was going to do. It had been two weeks since he last saw and talked to Gwen and yet she was the only person he could even imagine talking to in this state of mind.

He finally decided to throw all fucks to the wind and just knock on the front door. It was only a moment before the door opened. A soft laugh cut off the moment she saw him standing there. She looked behind her and then physically moved him out of the doorway, shutting the white wood as she went.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”

She bit her lip. “We just got done with dinner…”

He began quietly laughing to himself when he realised how long it had been since he’d sat down and had dinner with his own family.

“Are you ok? Is there something wrong? Are you not gonna sign us anymore?”

Her frantic questioning and his unexpected visit had placed that swirl of uncomfortableness around them. He just wanted it to be  _ easy  _ with her. He wanted little effort when it came to their interactions. He wanted that fog of awkwardness to lift and never return.

He scratched the back of his head. “My Dad died.” Blake said it in a way that would have been more appropriate to be speaking about spilled milk or a flat tire. Not about someone dying. And since the flood gates were finally open with just those three words, it was like he couldn't stop. “He drowned, did you know? Right in the fucking lake he used to scream at me for swimming in alone.” Almost to himself, he kept speaking. “And I'm angry about it. And I know I should take some time but I don't really wanna be alone right now.”

Blake’s stomach knotted up and he felt an urge to throw up. Or run as far away as he could. He wasn't making any sense, he knew. Instead he stood still and just watched her for a moment as she watched him.

Gwen stared at him for several moments more before walking closer to him, wrapping her arms around his middle. The top of her head barely reached his chin. “I’m really sorry about your dad, Blake.”

He dropped his head down in defeat, and breathed a quiet laugh near her ear. Her arms tightened for a brief moment. He allowed one arm to wrap around her for a second before he stepped away, causing her arms to fall from around him.

“Can I take you somewhere?”

Her eyes grew wide. “Uh, why? Not that I'm—Don’t you have like Bono to talk to or Jimmy?”

He took a single pace forward then thought better of it. Instead he furrowed his brows at the question. “Everyone I know, knew my father. And I need to say some things that aren't really nice about him...You’re the only one who won't judge me if I do.”

She hesitated. “Where do you wanna go?”

He blinked once. “There's a place...a house in Pasadena.”

“You have another house?”

“To be fair I actually own this one.”

She smiled. “Oh yeah, that makes it much better.”

He watched her as he normally did, his eyes bright, the hinted-at smile playing on his lips. “So will you come with me?”

She drew in a breath. “I don't know, Blake, I—”

“If you don't want to, you don't have to. I know you don't know me very well. But I could use a friend, and I’d really like it if that friend could be you.”

Her brows knitted slightly and she remained silent but looked at him with eyes which were both full of affection and surprise. Her eyes casted over his face before lingering on his mouth, aware of him watching and waiting for an answer to emerge.

She nodded minutely, just barely a motion of her head. “Maybe you can help me with my writing too…?” She prompted.

Blake scrunched his face in response, his twinkling dark blue eyes squinted at her. “I suck at writing songs. You’re better off asking the mail man for advice.”

She placed her tiny hands on his shirt suddenly, just inside the buttons, and felt the fabric underneath the silk, felt the swell of his chest under her fingertips as she buttoned the last few from the top. “I don't want the mailman, I want you.”

He fell silent, his eyes grew dim, and his breath slowed as she moved to withdraw her hand. He knew she meant to help her but hearing her utter those last three words, and only those last three words, made him ache, made him feel raw just like her touch a second ago. He blamed his father’s death for the sudden onslaught of emotions and was beginning to think that that was how they were gonna be with each other from now on. Little touches that held warmth and weight and nothing else. She was a friend. That's all she would ever be.

His voice was smooth, and measured when he spoke again. “Sebastian's waiting.”

  
  


Page 10

  
  


His driver took a road that lead them out of the city, heading towards the rocky estates. 

Out of his peripheral, he saw Gwen grip the expensive leather of the seat as the road wound like a snake around the hills. She glanced at him when the car approached a neighbourhood. Driving past mansions alike, the car was slowly coming to a turn at the last one on the left.

The driveway was long and lined with bright sunflowers. Gwen looked around slowly.

“All the lights are on.” She noted.

“That's the beauty of the house.”

“Beauty of the house.” She murmured. “Well lit?”

His eyes fixed on her beautiful face. “Never in the dark.” He replied. 

Her smile was radiant, vibrant, lively, present. It matched the home he managed to own but never live in.

Sebastian pulled up to a stop at the front entrance and got out of the car to open Gwen’s door. He helped her climb out and Blake followed soon after. While he spoke to Sebastian about his cancelled meetings tomorrow morning his eyes trailed after his friend. Gwen was already walking up to the front door, completely enthralled with the little house that illuminated the entire street.

He bid farewell to his driver and joined Gwen on his front doorstep. His keys jingled in his slacks as he fumbled around for them. “I haven't been here in awhile. I have some women come and clean it every now and then and a neighbour who turns on the lights so I can't be held responsible for whatever you’re about to see.”

She giggled. “Just open the door.”

He smirked and did what was demanded of him.

The first thing he noticed was the air. The air was burning and the windows were wide open. While the outside was built of white stone, and designed along pure, classical lines with massive marble columns and tall windows that overlooked immaculately manicured lawns and a private wood, the inside was stone walls that were covered by nature infused tapestries and heavy wooden furnishings that spoke of tradition, mainly his Oklahoma upbringing. Only the vast fireplace that was already blazing with cheerful flames offered any hint of privilege. Kevin, his neighbour, must have already stopped by that night to light it and forgot to put it out.

He turned to Gwen and found her eyes roaming about madly around the sitting room. He called her name to grab her attention and Blake crooked his finger, beckoning her to come closer.

“Pick a record and I’ll make drinks.”

She glided her hand across the back of his couch. “Do you have hot chocolate?”

“I think.” He spoke around a laugh. “Big marshmallows or the tiny ones?”

“Tiny.”

“Alright, tiny it is.”

Gwen sighed happily as she moved to the fireplace, a smile on her face.

Blake came back out ten minutes later with two scalding mugs of hot cocoa. He found Gwen at the record player, sifting through various albums with a look of concentration on her face.

“Don't think too hard, you’ll pop a blood vessel.”

Gwen turned, biting her lip. “I swear you have like every record known to mankind.”

“I like music.”

Gwen raised her eyebrows. “You like Hip Hop? Cause I just saw a rap mixtape in here.” She said gesturing to the box of records and tapes.

“To be honest most of those came from other people. I used to have listening parties here. Where everyone would come over and play and sing. And then Jimmy would always give me a mixtape to listen to from one of his new potential artists and I just sort of...kept em’.”

“But you do have some here that you like to listen to right?”

“Uh yeah, I...I have a bunch of old ones that either my mom had me listen to when I was growing up, or ones I managed to collect that I associate with good memories.”

“Any bad ones?”

He laughed. “Yeah those too.”

“I’ll try not to pick one that brings you back to twenty years ago.”

“I'm not that old.”

Gwen paused for a moment, thinking. “No you’re old...”

Blake nodded. “Anybody ever tell you how mean you can be.”

“I think you mean cute.”

“No I meant mean. I bet you were the bully on the playground at recess.”

“Did you even have recess back in your time?”

His smile began to hurt. “You’re such a little shit.”

Gwen smirked and finally took her mug from him with a thank you.

“Hey do you mind if I change out of these?” Blake gestured to his work clothes.

“Of course, go on.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“No rush, old man. I’ll still be here.”

Her smirk turned into a shit-eating grin and it left him worn out and feeling like a raw nerve. He turned around and noticed how sensitive his skin was as he dragged it through the thick air. Later, years down the line, he was going to remember this moment for what it was and everything it wasn't.

Upstairs, he made quick work of his clothes and changed into a pair of old, loose, jeans and a grey hoodie. When he finally managed to stumble down the stairs, he stopped on the last step as soon as he heard the song begin to play.

His head snapped up and there was Gwen, curled up by the fireplace with her mug of cocoa in her hands. Her hair was mussed as if she had just been laying down on it and there was a soft look that passed over her face when she saw him.

“Sorry. I kinda made myself at home.” She explained sheepishly. “Who is this?” She gestured in the air to the record playing. “The cover didn't have a name.”

Blake traveled the last few steps over to her and sat on the floor as well, leaning back against the low cocktail table.

“Cindy Walker. She penned the song with Eddy Arnold but he recorded it first in 1955. His is more country, hers is more Louis Armstrong if you know what I mean.”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“About music.”

“...My dad and my brother, I guess. They were a music nerd’s wet dream when it came to any song and any recording of it. I caught on quickly when I got old enough and then I made a living out of it.”

“So basically, you’re like my own personal jukebox.”

“Last time I checked a jukebox still took money.” He held his hand out and watched as recognition dawned on her face.

Gwen laughed and swatted him away. “Friends don't make other friends pay for good music.”

He grinned. “I can't argue with that.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, drinking their hot chocolate and listening to the rest of the song. And when it finally came to an end, Blake nudged her softly. “You wanna pick the next one?”

“No, it's your turn.” She replied just as softly.

He got up and made his way over to the record player. Whitley was already on top so he grabbed him and slide the disk out, letting the needle drop softly on the black.

It was only after the lyrics came in that Gwen turned to him with a huge, goofy smile. “You really like country don't you?”

“I breathe country music, ma’am.” He exaggerated his accent and watched Gwen’s voice blend beautifully with Keith's as she laughed.

Blake sat back on the floor and watched her.

“What?” She finally asked.

“Nothing. Tell me something nice about you.”

She got flustered for a moment. “There's not much to say. I’ve never been known to talk a lot about myself or my family. I think once I start I don't stop.”

Blake nodded his head in understanding. “Well,  when I was younger, my mama always said that it's not polite to talk about yourself. And if you grew up the same way...then nobody's talking. And nobody's listening. When I was kid I thought that was normal. Now I'm starting to see that it's just sad.” He shrugged, nonchalantly.

“Oh my god, you’re terrible at being subtle.”

“You get kicks out of making fun of me, don't you?”

“A little.”

He pointed at himself. “And I'm the terrible one?”

She was grinning behind her mug. “What's your favorite song?”

“That's like asking a mom to pick her favorite child.”

“They all have their favorites, and you know it.”

“Well I don't have a favorite.”

“Really?” She asked, somewhat put out by the thought.

“Maybe I do and I just haven't heard it yet, I don't know.”

He registered the record coming to an end and raised an eyebrow at Gwen, signaling her turn. She leaped up and took longer than he had when choosing his selection.

“It's not life or death you know.” He teased.

Gwen waved a hand at him to be patient and Blake continued to watch her decide with a fond expression.

“Please don't say you hate  _ The Smiths _ cause that's Eric’s favorite band and I don't think my heart could take it.” She turned around and voiced.

“Which Smith song?”

She turned back around coyly and set the record on its track. Blake shook his head pleased when ‘Unloveable’, started to play.

Gwen sang along quietly, throwing her arms up and head back as she swayed back and forth. Blake watched her dance by herself, lost in the instrumental, relaxed in the lyrics. He wondered how someone could be so free in that moment despite hearing such constricting lyrics.

 

_ I know I’m unloveable  _

_ You don't have to tell me _

_ I don't have much in my life _

_ But take it — it's yours _

 

He knew he was lost to her the moment her eyes closed. So, Blake got up from off the floor and carried their empty mugs to the kitchen. He washed the rest of the dishes in the sink and scoured through his pantry and cabinets for anything good to eat. He wasn’t lying when he said he hadn't been to this home in a while. 

He came up with a bag of chips, plenty of beers, and some new fruit that he's sure he has Kevin to thank for. As he fiddled around for a large bowl, he was vaguely aware of Gwen’s presence in the room. He found the one he wanted and stood back up to see her sitting on his island counter. The music was off, and there was a silence again, this time, not entirely awkward.

“It's your turn again.” She said, eyeing the bag of chips.

He smirked and handed her the bowl and bag as he left the kitchen. A moment later he heard crunching sounds and smiled while he picked out a U2 record. Preferably, the one Jimmy produced. He settled on a single and played ‘One’.

“You really can listen to anything.” Gwen said around a mouth full of potato chips.

“As long as they have a voice that will take me to another world and lyrics that can make me identify with the one I'm in, I'm good.”

“I like that. I'm gonna steal that one day.”

He joined her back on the floor, trying to ignore the way his body protested at the sitting arrangement. She offered the bowl to him and he took a handful.

“So tell me about your dad.”

Blaine swiped at the crumbs on his lips before swallowing.

“Lets see. He demanded a lot from us, but I guess when you grew up the way he did, you want more for your children.” Blake shifted on the soft pile of his sheepskin rug and ignored the way the fibers tickled even through his jeans. "He was just a hard man, you know? I mean he loved me, I know he did. But he was just so unhappy the older I got. I don't think he liked the life he had built. And I can't imagine spending most of your life trying to make a home somewhere with someone and not loving either the way you should...My mom deserved better. He should have left her a long time ago. Instead he had an affair and my mom stayed cause that's how she was raised. It just does more harm, you know?” 

“No reason to stay is a good reason to go.” Gwen said and nodded in understanding, letting a piece of chip sit just inside her mouth to melt, giving it a lick and a look before popping the entirety of it in her mouth. "I can't imagine having two parents who aren't in love with each other." 

Blake smiled. "You can tell you grew up loved."   
  
"You did too, and don't try to say you didn't.” 

“Ok I did.” He succeeded, “I meant—you can see that you grew up in a house where love was given freely and often.”

“Sometimes I think it's gonna be the worst thing that happened to me.”

“Why would you say that?”

"It's...You wouldn't want to hear me ramble on about it.”

“I’d love for you to ramble on about it.”

“I don't know…” She replied unsure. 

“Come on, please.” He begged prettily and watched Gwen laugh at him.

"Hmm, ok. Well. I think..." The corners of her mouth quirked up slightly, and she started two more times before rolling her eyes. "I haven't actually explained it to anyone but myself before. I'm a little rusty."

"I'll wait." The truth of the matter is, Blake could sit and watch Gwen think and speak and re-think and re-speak for hours. Her eyes danced and flickered with each new thought; her mouth slipped around words like a mitten warming cold fingers.

"Is that what you want? My teenage mess of thoughts?"   
  
"I want the truth.” He spoke around a laugh. “In whatever form you want to give it to me."   
  
"In 50 words or less."   
  
"I have a feeling you're entirely too interesting for 50 words."   
  
Gwen straightened her back as if preparing to give a proper essay answer. "Ok. I’ve come to the conclusion that people, such as yourself for example, are better off in love because you have hard feelings.” 

He smiled.

“No, think about it.” She continued. “You didn't get shown much affection when you were younger. So you don't crave it or need it as much as the next person. And me...I can't even leave my house without giving my parents a hug and a kiss. It's like, when I finally do find the right person to settle down with and get married and have babies...do you know how hard it's gonna be for me if I get my heart broken? Can you imagine the pain? All because my parents showed me an unrealistic amount of love. It's not like that in real life. I got the movie version.”

“First off, hard feelings?” He asked.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do but I don't think feelings can be hard. The moment they are I think is when you stop feeling. And I don't know about an unrealistic amount. You can never love someone too much or not enough. Those are just things people say when someone doesn't love them the  _ way  _ they want to be loved.”

“Do you love someone?”

Blake recoiled away from the ease of the conversation and the bluntness of her question.

“I wouldn't say I love her.”

“Who is she?” Gwen asked excitedly.

“You wouldn't know her.”

“Well what's she like?”

“She's...I don't Gwen, I—...”

“Ok, well what's wrong with her?”

Blake watched another chip disappear into her mouth and then dared himself to look into her eyes—eyes that clearly weren't going to let this conversation go unanswered.

“There's nothing wrong with her.”

“Oh I get it. There's just nothing right with her.”

"You don't have a filter, do you?"

"I—I didn't mean—I just—“ Gwen stopped and took a deep breath. “No. Sorry.” 

The one thing he figured out about his new friend is that she doesn't consider how she affects anyone else. That was the literal definition of comfortable.

They stared for long moments, Gwen running her fingers across her bottom lip before dipping them into her mouth and sucking the salt until her fingers were dry.

“Hey, Gwen.”

“Yeah?”

“Can we move onto the couch cause my ass really hurts right now.”

She started with a smile until it transformed into a full blown laugh, and she couldn't stop, not even when he pushed at her arm playfully as they stood up.

“Change the record.” She ordered.

“I thought it was your turn.”

“You might not like what I want to play.”

“I told you I like anything.”

“You’re asking for it.”

Blake settled on the couch and put his feet up on the table. He closed his eyes and waited for Gwen’s selection to fill the room. The moment he heard John Lennon’s and Phil Spector's version of ‘Be my baby’ he was absolutely in love with the girl.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her, only to realise she was already staring at him, fingers crossed.

“You like it? Most people prefer The Ronettes but I love this cover. The pain in his voice, the longing, that ache. God I wish I could do that in the studio.” Gwen said passionately, coming to rest by his side.

“John Lennon was an absolute hero for this version. I don't know how you couldn’t like it.”

“Those people aren't normal.” She said seriously and Blake laughed.

“Settle down.” He teased causing her serious frown to crack.

“Alright, shh. Listen to the song.” Blake closed his eyes once again and relaxed into the cushions. And only opened them when he felt his leg had brushed against hers as he crossed one over the other, and next thing he knew, his gaze managed to find her bare legs, fixating on the light, smooth skin for much too long. He immediately averted his eyes elsewhere—his hand draped over his stomach, in particular, and rubbed at his father’s wedding ring on his right index finger. His mom had let him take it without protest and Blake figured the little silver metal never brought her any happiness anyways.

“I know you said to be quiet but when you help produce our first album please make sure it sounds and feels just like this. Raw and different and human as possible.”

His gaze lingered on hers as he tried to recall all the reasons why he hadn't allowed her to be in his arms. And when the reasons did come back to him, he nodded and looked down at their feet, both propped on the table now. “Ok.”

Gwen exhaled as if she was relieved, as if he could ever deny her anything. A couple of notes went by before she turned to him, hand hitting his shoulder to get his attention. “Hey, what's your favorite thing about music?”

His gaze was still distracted by her toes. "You have really nice feet."

She stared at him, his random declaration making her giggle for the hundredth time that night. "You say the craziest things."

"No I don't."

"You definitely do," She insisted. "Like I've never heard the things that you say come from anybody else."

"You're exaggerating, but all right," He conceded, lazily raising just one hand from his chest in a gesture of surrender. "Even if it's crazy, least you know I mean it."

"Either that, or you have a foot fetish," She joked. "Important information either way."

"It's not a fetish."

"I mean, you say that, but then I see you looking at my toes and it looks like you wanna eat them, and I dunno what that's about."

"You're an asshole," He grinned over at her. "That's the last time I ever give you a compliment."

She used one of her pretty feet to kick him, both of them cackling when her foot connected with his leg and sent one of the beer bottles crashing to the floor. It hit carpet and didn't exactly break but it rolled all the way over to the record machine. Blake noticed that the track had ended.

"That's a freaky sign." He voiced.

“It's the music gods telling us we need more Lennon in our lives.”

“Yeah ok, crazy.” Blake stood and played another record of John’s.

“So if you don't think that ‘Mind Games’ is better than ‘Imagine’ I might have to get Sebastian to cut this night short.” Gwen said as ‘Mind Games’ rang throughout the room.

“We might be soulmates, Gwen.” He agreed with her opinion.

“I knew I liked you for a reason. But hey, come here, you never answered my question.”

“What's my favorite thing about music?”

She nodded and he sat back down. This time she moved closer to him and he had to take a deep breath.

“...Uh, that it’s timeless. Reminds me that it doesn't all die when you grow up.”

She lightly trailed her hand over the muscles of his arm, followed the faint pattern of blue veins inside the crass at his elbow. He was sure she wasn't even aware she was doing it with the way she was so absorbed in his words.

“See I like it because it reminds me that it doesn't all hurt when you get there. Music heals. You feel that right.”

Blake nodded slowly as he looked over to his friend again, feeling like he was hearing his own words come out of her mouth. He rested a comforting hand on her thigh, thinking about how their late night rendezvous began—how he just came by her home looking for a person to spend time in his, and ended up having the best night he could remember in over two years.

"I do," He eventually whispered, his thumb rubbing at the skin covering her knee. “I really do.”

  
  


Page 11

  
  


“Do you ever miss the person that you used to be? Like before you got your heart broken, or before you lost someone...before your family fell apart?” 

“I’m still the same person.” Blake traced his fingers along Gwen’s foot, alternating between massaging and just rubbing the tender appendages.

It was late at night now. Eleven, he checked the last time he went to the bathroom. They talked in front of embers before Blake started the fire up again and Gwen grabbed a container of grapes from the fridge.  

“I mean, I know that but I have this feeling that I’m only getting to know this version of you.”

Blake shrugged lightly, popping a grape in his mouth. “I was more comfortable in my own skin. Well, as much as you can be when you’re an awkward teenager trying to figure out what the hell and who the hell you’re supposed to be.”

Blake idly spiraled his fingers along the whole of her foot and Gwen smiled lazily, leaning over to steal a grape from his side of the couch. She took her feet back as she did and Blake’s hands suddenly felt empty.

“I'm jealous of the kids that figured it out from the start.” Gwen revealed to him.

He murmured something underneath his breath and when she asked him to repeat it, he cleared his throat. “Jealous is the night when the morning comes.”

Gwen stared at him in disbelief before dissolving into giggles, pressing her face against the denim of his jeans, doubled over in a fit of laughter. 

“I would love to know what's so funny about that.”

Gwen sat up and covered her mouth, still laughing, and finally wiping tears from her eyes. “I’m telling you, you say the craziest shit.”

Blake smiled in surprise. “I don't think I’ve ever heard you curse.”

“Well don't tell on me,” Gwen smirked.

Their gazes lingered and Gwen broke the spell by tossing a grape Blake’s way, clapping happily when he caught it in his teeth.

“I don't tattle-tale.”

“What are you four?” She asked laughing at his choice of word.

“I thought I was old.”

“Me too,” She deadpanned. Her ears visibly perked up in that next moment. “Record stopped.”

Blake got up for the 100th time that night but found he didn't mind one bit.

 

 

Page 12

  
  


It was late morning. The fire crackled and the rain hammered on the now closed windows. 

_ George Strait’s _ , ‘You Look So Good In Love’, had stopped playing, and the player fizzed as if the lack of another record was somehow neglectful to its creation.

Blake rubbed his forehead, not looking up from his book. “It’s your turn to change it.” He flipped a page.

Gwen didn't look up from her own book. “Yeah, I'm not changing it it's your turn. Besides you rather listen to country more than what I put on.”

He still stared down at the words on the page. “I’ll give you five dollars if you change it, I'm too old to get up.”

“You’re only old when it's convenient for you to be old.” She turned a page. “What are you reading anyway?”

They both looked up at the same time and Blake showed the cover to Gwen, watched as her face went contrite.

“Oh god, not that depressing crap.”

“Listening to him made me want to read about em’. And besides Jimmy gave me this book.”

Gwen made a face.

“Ok, what nonsense work of fiction are you reading?” He asked.

Gwen held up the book so half of it covered her face. Blake read,  The Princess diaries , and smirked. It was a huge contrast to the  John Lennon: The Life he was currently splurging over.

Gwen laughed at his expression, “Don't be so smug.”

Blake smiled and went back to his reading but stopped when Gwen started talking again. She had this annoying trait about her that when she needed attention, she wouldn't go away unless she received it.

“You ever just live in the moment?”

“I thought I was living in every moment.”

“Blake.”

“I'm sorry, continue.”

“I meant like, here. Right now. What could be better than this weather, and those songs, and that fire. I don't know why you don't come here more often.”

As with so much of human nature, the tendency to mimic the facial expressions of others is context-dependent. But as he sat with thirty one years of experience in his eyes, Blake knew none of that wisdom could look the same, none of that wisdom could mean anything now. It was useless, just like his still beating heart. Just like the words he will never utter to her. Just like the words she murmured to him now.

“I mean this is...I don't think I've ever felt this content, you know? Like if I died right now...it'd be ok.” She looked at him with this far away gaze and he returned it with something very near, something very in the present, in the moment, as she would prefer it.

“Well it wouldn't be ok with me.” Her eyes finally came to and she grinned softly at his words. “So why don't you shut up and go change the record.”

Gwen laughed a soft musical sort of laugh. He’d come to a lot of realisations since he met her and the fact that the amber color of Gwen’s eyes matched the amber color of his favorite whiskey, proved to be his favorite one of all.

She stood in all her gracefulness and made that last trip to the record player. Blake sighed and went back to his book.

“Blake.”

“Hmm?”

“Dance with me.”

His brows furrowed a little but his eyes did not leave his page. “No.”

“Dance with me.”

He set down the book and turned around to face her on the couch.

“Here?” He asked somewhat irritated.

“Yes. Here, now. In this room.”

“I don't like to dance.”

“I don't like wasted moments.”

He appraised her for a moment, relaxing a little with a smirk, then he stood up and took a pace towards her, his hands out to his sides in mock defeat.

“Just one.”

“Just one,” She repeated.

He stepped into her and slowly moved his hand around her waist. Even through the layers of their clothing, he could feel the heat and strength of her. With his other hand he dropped the needle and waited to hear what she had picked for their first dance.

‘Over the Rainbow’, Jevetta Steele’s cover greeted his ears. He noticed how Gwen’s breath caught as she placed her own slight hand on his shoulder and held the other out. His fingers held hers and rather than simply letting her rest them along his, he closed his hand around hers as if claiming her.

“You feel it?” She whispered.

Blake felt sad. It was all dreadful, in fact. He had never wanted to spare anyone anything in his life, and that was a new sensation, that feeling of kindness, perhaps even empathy, it's what was ripping him apart at the moment, their moment, and he was constructed in such a way that he felt each and every seam. How cruel of God to hang that thread only to watch Blake realise how much he would ruin it himself with chaos.

So, he nodded. He was completely confident that what she felt and what he knew, were two completely different things. He nodded dutifully.

And then, with a natural ease that staggered her, he began to move them. The song smiled at the pair, sending waves and volumes of joy and euphoria their way. Their bodies moved well together. Their hands clasped gently. Their legs moved in perfect synchronicity and when they touched he thrilled to it. He could stay like this, moving and turning and holding her close.

They flowed through the room, never stumbling, never wavering. She dared moved into him more, and he maintained the grip on her back, not stopping himself from pulling her in even closer.

He didn't know how long they danced for. It could have been a mere minute or hours. Time was meaningless. But, eventually, he slowed and, eventually, he stopped. But he did not pull back. He remained there, his breath deep and fast, partly through exertion but not altogether. He still held her fingers gently and his thumb stroked along the delicate lines of them.

He realised—how beautiful his realisations—how she was, in fact, a missed moment.

And he wanted achingly to spare her. He had a list, two of them, made both the night she left his house that first time, the night he saw Tony look at her lovingly. He dwelled on it, couldn’t help but linger over it, and it was such a struggle to know which were the edgier parts of the first list and which were the more forgivable aspects of the second one. The one he wanted Gwen to leave him over. The one he’ll use to push her away.

“We have no music.” He said, quietly, still looking down at her, noticing the silence hugging them like a blanket ever since the song ended.

“It is your turn,” She replied.

He smiled softly. “Are you hungry?”

“I honestly thought you’d never ask.”

He stepped away from her still smiling. “Little shit,” He murmured.

“Yeah yeah, what we eating?”

“Follow me Princess.”

As they walked to the kitchen, her behind him, he felt her hand grab the back of his shirt, not tugging, not pulling, just simply grasping.

That moment, that moment seemed to last so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to portray that ease that Blake described earlier. Hopefully you saw the playfulness and the honesty in the dialogue. Thank you for reading! -Andy


	4. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No excuse, but college applications stress me the fuck out. Senior year is so crazy I’m so sorry. I love this story, I’m not done with this story just bare with me please! I’m gonna stop talking because you probably just want to read now, enjoy guys!! :(:):

Page 13

Blake had already set the table for two and was reaching for wine glasses in the cupboard when Gwen entered the kitchen again.

“Pasta out of a bag. Should I start calling you Chef Blakey?"

He paused at the use of her nickname for him but quickly nodded as to not bring her attention to it just yet. "Don't knock it till you try it.”

“It was frozen.” She said amusedly.

"It has feelings Gwen. Stop acting like you’re better than it. It's gonna be good," Blake said genuinely, teasingly.

She shrugged with a smile. “Alright, fine. What are we drinking?”

He laughed, "Well drunkie, I prefer vodka but it looks like I'm out of my stash. So I found a Pinot out in the garage, it's chilling in the fridge. Sit down." He gestured to one of the chairs at the farm table.

She sat and watched as he brought their meal out one by one. He had just set down a loaf of bread he pulled out from the oven when Gwen’s stomach grumbled. She looked up wide-eyed only to smile a minute later when Blake grinned at her, clearly amused. “Jerk.”

Fine lines around Blake’s eyes crinkled. After everything was on the table, he opened the bottle of wine and poured for the both of them, then played a Rolling Stones record, and finally sat across from her.

He gestured for her to begin. She took a hesitant bite.

"I can't believe you can make frozen pasta taste good," She said, closing her eyes to allow her tongue to fully taste the flavors in the cuisine. She bit a cherry tomato and an explosion of earthy goodness filled her mouth.

The sound of a fork clattering onto a plate broke her gastronomic euphoria. She looked to see Blake shifting in his seat, pointedly not looking back at her.

"You ok?" She asked.

"Fine," Came his hasty reply.

Thank God she accepted his explanation without any probing looks and they continued with the meal in silence, occasionally looking over to each other as they ate.

Two servings of pasta, a plate of salad, and half a loaf of bread later, she declared herself too full to move. But as he started to clear the table, she stood up and insisted that he sit while she cleaned up.

"No argument from me," Blake said as he sat in a kitchen chair off to the corner, his long legs extended out in front of him with only his ankles crossed, nursing a beer this time.

“What do you like to read?” She asked out of nowhere. And he assumed she asked because of their little reading excursion earlier.

“Um, nothing, to be honest.”

“There are worse answers.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

She turned to him from her place at the sink. “You could have said the newspaper for one.”

He chuckled. "What do you like to read?"

"I don't like reading. I like writing songs.”

“Sing me one?”

“No way! Are you crazy?”

“What? You sang for me before?”

“I didn't know you were there at the time.”

“What about at my house?”

She turned back around to the dishes. “That was different. Bono practically asked me to sing Marvin Gaye. You don't pass up an opportunity like that.”

Blake scoffed. “So you’ll sing for Bono but you won't sing for me? Bono ain't gonna sign you.”

Gwen looked over her shoulder at him. “Exactly why singing for you is a bad idea.”

“You’re afraid I’ll change my mind.” It wasn't a question and she gave him another look before turning around for good.

Blake lifted a brow. He exhaled as he stood up and made his way over to her, casually leaning against the counter next to her body as she continued to wash the dishes.

“Nothing is gonna get in the way of me signing you. Not Jimmy, not me, and definitely not yourself. You’re special, Gwen. You’ll make magic in the studio.”

“I don't believe in magic and I definitely don't have any.”

“You don't believe in magic?” He asked as if in disbelief.

“It's not real.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Look at me.”

Her eyes flickered but remained on the sponge she was cleaning with.

“Look at me.” He repeated again.

Her eyes finally lifted petulantly and her ministrations seized for the time being.

He opened his mouth to say something but briefly shut it when the words didn't quite come to him fast enough. Then he tried again. “Magic is surprise at your own capabilities. It's a feeling. It’s the realist thing you’re ever gonna know.”

He hoped in the golden-blue of his eyes, in the little night light dissipating through the kitchen window, she could see the truth of his words in them.

“You think I'm magical?” She finally spoke.

“I think magical things happen when you’re around. And I guess if that makes you some kind of unicorn or something—”

She snorted and let her head fall into his chest as her shoulders shook and her smile pressed into his heart.

“—then yeah I think you’re magical.” He smiled.

Gwen lifted her head and looked at him from under her lashes. “You’re a unicorn too.” She smiled.

“You flatter me, Ma'am," He sniffed and reveled in her laughter once more.

Gwen turned back around and finished up with the last of the silverware. “There. All done," She declared as she wiped her hands on a towel. "You're a very neat chef, Blakey." She grabbed her own wine glass sitting next to the sink and took a sip.

“You called me Blakey again." He couldn’t resist.

She frowned. "I’m sorry. I didn't know I was doing it. I’ll stop."

“I didn't say stop.”

She looked at him confused yet hopeful.

He sighed. “Everyone’s got a nickname for me. Blakey it's...I never heard that one before...it’s nice.”

She affectionately wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You do realise I can only call you that when we’re alone, right?”

He laughed as he extricated himself from Gwen’s embrace. "Yes I do. And I also realised that I gotta get you back home. It's late.”

She pouted. “You can take me back in the morning.”

“No, I gotta take you now.”

“Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me? Didn't you want to hear me sing?”

“Gwen.”

“Come on. It's a couple more hours.”

“I got stuff to do tomorrow.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“...Like...stuff. Look, it doesn't matter what I gotta do. We have to get going.”

“Please.” She begged, clasping her hands and giving him her best sad puppy face.

“Gwen...I can't.”

“A few more hours and I promise I’ll walk home if I have to. Come on, please? Pretty please?”

Blake shook his head but knew his resolve had lessened—all but disappeared if he was being honest with himself. “I'm taking you home in an hour.”

“Yes!” She said triumphantly.

Blake ignored her little victory dance and poured two more glasses before motioning for her to follow him outside. They sat on two of his rocking chairs on the side porch, watching palm tree fronds sway in the night breeze.

Blake was thankful for the quietness of the night, and silently thanked Gwen for understanding how much he actually needed it. It wasn't until several minutes later that she turned to him and put her chin in her hand, looking softly up at him and half grinning whilst she did. “Do you play the guitar?”

He hummed a ‘yes’ and sipped his drink as he toed off his shoes again, leaning back against the chair and closing his eyes.

She took a long drink from her own glass before setting it down on the coffee table in front of them; then she placed a hand on the arm of his chair. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” He admitted, suddenly opening his eyes and unable to look away from her lips which were glossed from the wine. He took another sip as if that might help somehow.

“Too tired to tell me where the guitar is?”

He shook his head, putting his glass aside and shifting his weight to get up. “No, sorry I'm being lazy. I’ll be back in one sec—”

She placed a hand against his chest and pushed gently so he would sit back again as she moved to stand up, cutting off his words. “I’ll get it.”

The pleasant warmth of the alcohol in his stomach intensified, heat spreading throughout his body at her simple touch. “It's in the upstairs closet.”

He watched her body retreat back into the house and let out a deep breath when the sliding door clicked closed again. His instinct was to touch her back whenever she felt him but he knew what path that would lead him down and so he reeled in the ache very quickly.

She slid the door open a minute later and brushed past him on her way to her own chair. She sat down and immediately thrusted the guitar into his hands.

He smiled, a gentle smile tinged with sadness, but accepted the instrument nonetheless. He hadn't played for just the hell of it in a very long time, usually too busy or too tired or too both.

“I was writing this song with Tony. You remember Tony?” He nodded. “Well we were just writing this in my room and he was teaching me a couple of the chords, but it doesn't have a straight melody yet. We’ve got all the lyrics but there's no tune to carry it.”

Blake played a couple of chords to reactivate that muscle memory. Gwen looked to him for guidance and he just gestured for her to start singing what she already had down on paper. She nodded and took a deep breath before introducing the first lyrics.

 _I can’t help that I like to be kissed_  
And I wouldn't mind if my name changed to Mrs.  
This is one side, my conventional side  
An attraction to tradition

Blake felt out her voice and the nonexistent melody she was already creating as she sang.

 _And I want to cook him dinner_  
But I'm more indecisive than ever  
And who believes in forever?

Blake wasn't too familiar with reggae but he knew instantly that this song was going to be produced and influenced much around that genre. It was moderate reggae and it was something very different to introduce into the market at that time.

_Who will be the one to marry me?_

Blake gulped as he looked up from the strings to see Gwen looking at him, finishing off the last of her lip. He allowed himself a quiet smile before clearing his throat and returning his attention back to the chords.

“Is there more?” He asked, plucking a couple of strands.

She nodded and even though he didn’t see it, her silence was answer enough.

“Did you like it?” She asked in return.

He smiled. “I wanna start it off in G major.”

Gwen quickly nodded her head again. “Sing the rest?”

He strummed in the major key as an answer to her question and used his instincts to follow along with her incredibly tempting voice.

 _A girl in the world barking up the wrong tree_  
A creature conditioned to enjoy matrimony  
Crumbling continuity, I pick up the pieces  
The ceremony makes me zealous  
As the past quickly ceases

The notes he strived to compose flowed effortlessly along the waves and dips of her voice. He listened to the lyrics. They were delicate, cautious words, and yet bold, soft-spoken and strange, and he wondered at her.

_Do you believe you’ll marry me?  
You might be the one to marry me._

He stopped strumming when she stopped singing.

“There's an outerverse but Tony thought the chorus and two beginning verses would get lost in the melody.” She said.

Blake thought for a moment and then struck one chord down and then repeated the action to the next. “Let's strip it then. What's the next line?”

“I sing marry me twice and then I repeat forever and ever three times before I let the note go.”

“Once that note is finished I’ll lead back into it with the head melody but it’ll be quieter.”

“But that's the end of the song.” She revealed uneasily.

“Then just keep singing whatever comes to mind. Whatever you feel.”

“Ok.”

He gave her an encouraging smile and she returned it, taking a deep breath and starting exactly on time with the pizzicato.

 _Marry me._  
Marry me.  
Forever and ever and ever and ever  
Happily ever after, happily ever after, happily ever after, happily ever after

 _Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue_  
Here comes the bride all dressed in white  
Mmmm and ever ever ever ever, forever and ever, forever and ever, forever and ever, and ever and ever

_You and me_

She was paler now, light, fragile; he could see the sleepless bruises shadowing the skin beneath her eyes in that moment, and he knew how late it was, how late he kept her out. She should be smaller in his eyes but she just seemed to be both larger than herself, than the music she had shared with him.

He had always moved with intention, rather than reaction. But she was dangerous. She made him impulsive. Everyone else merely existed to him. Their voices were like the wind at his back and his still waters never stirred in their breeze. He smiles every time he’s introduced to someone he’s never met, by someone he’ll never see again. But Gwen was forever it felt like. His insecurities were ruffled around her, his smiles lighter as she carried them away with every look. Her music only further proved his vulnerability toward her.

“You wrote that with Tony?” Blake asked, avoiding Gwen’s gaze as he put his guitar back down and picked up his glass. When he righted himself again, a thought struck him so hard it nearly knocked the breath out of his chest. “You guys are together.”

Gwen shook her head genially. “I asked him out on a date,” She admitted. “But we aren't anything other than band mates.”

"And friends.” Blake added.

“And friends.”

He nodded, feeling his lungs collapse and his heart grow cold.

“You don't like it.”

He choked on his wine. "What?" Blake sputtered.

“You don't think it's a good idea.” She remarked.

“It’s not my place to say what I think.”

“He's a good person.” She pleaded with him to understand anyway.

Blake sighed. “I’m sure he is. He might be a good boy and would never hurt you on purpose, but a person doesn’t have to try in order to break you.”

“He wouldn't do that. You don't even know him.”

Blake titled his head aside, and leaned a little lower towards his friend, voice falling to a rumbling murmur. “I want you to be right. But Gwen...you guys are in a band together. You think it's wise to date each other now? What if you break up?”

“We won't.”

“And you’re completely sure about that?”

“Of course I am.” Gwen said incredulously, naively.

“I hope you’re right, then.”

She glared at him. "You keep saying how special I am but you don't want me to have someone special to make music with and be happy? Me and Tony wrote that song together! It's good, you said so yourself.”

A tick worked at the side of his mouth as he sat there looking at her with no expression. Only the blues of his eyes flinched as she completely ignored the magic between them as he practically put skin and bones on the precious lyrics she wrote with her precious Tony. Gwen stared after him, completely oblivious to the war waging on inside his heart and head. She noticed the spark in his eyes however, how pronounced his cheekbones were when they flashed with emotion. "You're jealous." She accused him.

He blinked at her. “No, Gwen...I’m not jealous. I’m doing my job as your friend and hopefully music producer and protecting you from a shit ton of pain if this thing goes south."

As he stared after her, watching her clenching her teeth, he continued. "You’re gonna do what you want, I know that, there's no changing your mind once you’ve made it up. But just think about what I said." He stood up and grabbed their glasses and the guitar, leaving his shoes outside as he opened the sliding porch door. “I’m gonna go put the fire out and get ready to take you back.”

He barely suppressed the urge to slam the wine glasses down in the sink as he stepped into the kitchen. This wouldn’t do. He was jealous. Outrageously jealous with no right whatsoever to feel that way. But that whole night, where she had been so lively and practically laid in his arms as they danced, listening to his words, his childhood, stroking any part of him that she could, making him laugh, making him want to cry, sitting in complete silence as they read respectively near one another, eating the food he cooked with the intention to impress, composing a song together for the first time, getting him to pick up a guitar in what seemed like years, he felt something deep inside him unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He wanted to protect her. He wanted her to look at him adoringly with her wide brown eyes.

He wanted her to take a stupid chance on him. It was paralysing the extent of his feelings for her.

“You’re not wrong.”

Blake startled and turned to find Gwen leaning on the wall to the entrance of the kitchen.

“You’re not wrong.” She repeated. “But I really like him. And he really likes me. And it’d be really cool if someone would just be supportive of that.”

Blake clenched his jaw and continued to rinse out their glasses.

Gwen scoffed and gave him an incredulous look. “Thanks anyway.”

She turned to leave the kitchen, clearly ticked off.

Blake blinked the vision away. "What…I don't…Gwen. I don't know what you want from me."

"I'm not sure I want anything from you." She turned and leaned against the wall, her expression unreadable.

"Then what, Gwen? What do you want me to say? I don't think it's a good idea. And quite frankly, Jimmy won't either. It's problematic.”

There's a look that Blake was afraid to stare directly at but does nonetheless. Gwen feigns hurt but Blake could tell how real that pain actually was. “You’re right. I'm a problem.” Gwen moved out of the kitchen toward the sitting room and Blake immediately went after her.

“That's not what I meant.” He told her as soon as he had her body back into his line of vision.

She stood by the corner cabinet where the record player and covers were. She didn’t say anything as she flipped through an old stack of them.

“Gwen.”

“Are you telling me I'm being selfish by dating Tony? That the band’s chances of getting signed are all riding on whether or not this relationship does or doesn't explode in my face?”

Blake can't answer that. His instinct says yes but his heart tells him that no. The world won't end if she gets her heartbroken. Their chances of getting signed and being successful won't lessen if she chooses to break his heart unbeknownst to her own. He won't deny her anything she wants. He just wished that her wants didn’t so much differ from his own. He wished he could stop contradicting himself.

"Look, it’s fine ok? I don't want to talk about it anymore." She told him.

“I’m not done talking about it.” He replied.

“Can you be then? Done talking about it.” She said exasperated, _childishly_. Blake had a strange sense that she was even mocking him and it almost made him laugh.

She was a series of walking contradictions, his little friend: vulnerable but blunt, petulant but intelligent, fragile yet strong. She was compassionate, but occasionally her immaturity surprised him.

“Why are you smiling? This isn't funny.” She almost, almost, whined to him. Blake’s smile grew. Where she was all confidence before she seemed so unsure now, her face growing pinker by the second. That face, that uncertainty, that childlike presence. All of it made him want her. His willpower was slipping away, and he didn’t find himself missing it.

“Come here.” Quietly spoken with an outstretched arm. He kept his eyes on her as she warily glided over to him. He wanted to dance with her. He wanted to place his hands on her waist and circle the room with her for hours.

He wanted to fuck her.

Against the wall, on the couch, in his bed. He wanted her to push Tony from her mind and accept him into her own instead.

He wanted to teach her and show her everything the world had to offer. He wanted her to be better, than him, than her peers, than her competition. He wanted to love her openly instead of in hiding, and he wanted to show her now as she took his hand in hers.

Blake backed her up against the cabinet she just came from and reveled in her confused expression. His right hand pulled out a record from the back that was always his mother’s favorite. He effortlessly slipped it out of its sleeve with one hand and set it diligently on the track, lowering the needle softly. She tilted her head in his general direction whilst the music filled the air and the breaths between them.

He pulled her closer moving them slowly across the wooden floor.

Her movements were unsure, and where they had simply swayed before, he moved their feet properly together now. He realised as she stepped on his toes that she had never really danced with someone and for a few moments his desire to educate won out against any other emotions. He corrected her hand placement firmly, showed her just when to rotate her head back at the end of a step, and demonstrated the way to brush her feet together at the joining. It wasn’t until she grew complacent in the motions, bringing her hand up boldly to brush against where his hair had started to grey, that traitorous thoughts resurfaced.

Blake spun them around, lift and fall, the cool air rushing around their legs, drying the last bits of their sticky argument until it wilted and died and the music became life between them instead.

_Don’t they know it’s the end of the world  
Cause you don’t love me anymore_

He stopped them from moving momentarily, holding her in place. His eyes had asked a thousand questions in that moment but not one was spoken aloud as she looked down to his chest, surely thinking about the answers she would never say.  
  
Her hand was still in his, the same point of contact from the dance abandoned. He slid fingers down her arm, sweeping along the side of her ribs until he met her other hip. His eyes followed the path, watching the material of her clothes move with his swimming fingers. “This is my mama’s favorite song.”

She gave no response but remained so close that they needed only send their thoughts to each other in delicate whispers on their breaths as they found themselves moving again, just barely but enough to fake the pretense of dancing.

He was so consumed by her it physically pained him to look upon her beautiful and full features. But it hurt more not to feel them and so he did. He brought his other hand up and touched her face, softly at first, with just the fingertips, before running his thumb along the line of her chin and cupping her cheek in his hand. She looked up at him through her lashes and nothing and everything made sense.

She searched his face, sincerity etched onto hers. “I’ve known you for less than a month and you’ve already taught me more than I thought I ever wanted to know.”

He smiled and his eyes softened, casting over her face. She moved closer and if anyone had wished to draw a silhouette of the two of them, together there, alone and private, they would have found no light between them. They were so close; barely parted. Her tiny frame was practically resting against him. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend no one else existed. Only them. He held his breath.

“Gwen,” He murmured, but his eyes had not left her face and still he did not move away from her. She could smell him richer than ever, that deep leather and earth musk which danced around her senses. His breath was back but it was rapid and it hurt. There was a sensation deep inside which was pain yet as far from pain as it could be.

She brought her hand up to his where it still held her angelic face. She wound her fingers tighter around his and felt his tighten in turn on hers.

He shook his head, barely. At the same time, Gwen tilted her head up even further toward his and Blake found his own moving down, inclining his head to hers. Their lips brushed as soft as a feather on skin and that sensation inside of him leapt like a wild thing and he adored it as much as he adored her.

After the first touch of their lips he pulled back, but she leaned in to prevent it and felt the tension of surprise in him, but then her boldness had superseded his doubts and he pressed his mouth harder to hers. His other hand relinquished her fingers only to hold her head so that he now cupped her tightly, and he kissed harder, deeper, moving his lips firmly, opening them slightly so that she could feel his warm, sweet breath mingling with hers.

He vaguely wondered if she would fuse to him with the way she held onto him so tightly, if they would form together into one, and then, as she slipped further down that rabbit hole with him, Blake drew himself away from her mouth to plant kisses over her chin and then along her neck, which she bared for him, holding him against her. His mouth was open, hungry almost, and his hot breath seemed to melt her skin.

Still, he continued to move down, his mouth now grazing her collarbone, then moving further to the soft down of her breasts. She sighed breathily and with that he was back to her mouth again, holding her head hard and kissing her with such intensity she could not draw breath. The force of it moved her against the cabinet again and she allowed him to kiss her with more passion than she’s ever known.

She pressed into him and felt something nudging at her waist. He shuddered and a thrill raced through her, realising what pleasure she just gave him.

She pressed harder against him and he groaned whilst still kissing her. She liked the sound and wished to hear it again, so she pressed strongly along that part of him once more. Again, he gave the most beautiful earthy moan which spoke to some primeval force in them both. Instinctively, unthinkingly, her hands moved to the bottom of his sweatshirt and she began to push it up from his torso. At first he let her, his pleasure too consuming, but when her fingers found his waistband and tugged at the buckle there, he stuttered and faltered. His eyes opened, and although her kisses were an opiate for him, he suddenly and desperately wrenched himself away from her and took several staggering steps back.

She followed him instinctively, breathless pants suddenly right next to his ear as she came around to him and took his head in her hands, trying to pull him into her again, but he held her off, moving back, flinching away.

“Stop, Gwen.”

The strength of his words halted her immediately.

He turned away from her flushed body, shame consuming him, hiding the evidence of his desire from her. He cloaked them in silence until he felt the night wasn’t going to crush him with its darkness anymore. His voice settled but he still spoke with the shock running through his system.

“Can I take you home, now?” He turned back around, regret etched heavily onto his handsome features.

She nodded, a sick look resting upon her young beauty.

He turned and walked away, put the fire out, put on his shoes, and put their little tryst behind him. He closed the door on their less than but all but perfect night when she was ready to leave. He opened her passenger side door and closed it on her troubled face. And he watched her head rest against the window, watched her eyes slowly close and not open again till they arrived in front of her driveway. He got out and came around to her side of the car and watched her slowly move to get up and get out, away from hi. But as she walked up the path to her parent’s house, she turned back around and reached for him again, and against his better judgement, he allowed himself to be pulled back in. To his surprise she wrapped herself around him and embraced him tightly.

“I’m sorry.” She murmured into his sweatshirt.

His eyes closed briefly. If she only knew how much he wanted it she would not be apologising to him.

He rubbed her back smoothly and sighed. “It’s ok.” The words he really needed to utter were stuck in his throat and felt wrong to force out.

So he kissed her hair and held her little body close. He rested his chin on top of her head and looked up. His eyes met the eyes of a man standing on the house’s doorstep. He assumed it was Gwen’s father.

He slowly let her go and smoothed down his hair. “Goodnight, Gwen.” He said softly.

She leaned up on her toes and kissed his cheek briefly, “Night.” She whispered in his ear as she moved to settle back down on her heels.

He watched her walk up to her anxious father, no doubt bothered by the hour his daughter had returned home. Blake rounded his car and got inside, starting up the engine.

As he drove himself back home he wondered if he was her first kiss. It was a possibility. But he knew he would never ask and she would never tell him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate every comment and kudos, you guys are so patient and awesome. Thank you, love you humans  
> :(:):


	5. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter but no less important.   
> I’ve create a playlist on Spotify for this story with the wonderful help from Lola! Thank you again :)  
> Not all the songs are on Spotify because they’re specific versions I’ve found on YouTube. If I can’t find a song on Spotify I will always add it here for your convenience. The two songs that are only found on YouTube are included   
> :Be My Baby - John Lennon  
> Over The Rainbow - Jevetta Steele  
> Here is the link: https://open.spotify.com/user/mepriss/playlist/6Q03dnKjXl1w1e7xPln6Hv?si=B6CTwfkY  
> As always enjoy reading! :(:):

Page 14

It was a couple of weeks before he heard from her again. In his defense, he was swamped with label negotiations and music titles. It wasn’t like she was in a rush to call him either. So when his phone finally did ring and Gwen’s caller ID was on the screen, it was somewhere in the middle of the night and Blake was extremely pissed for being woken up out of a dead sleep. A string of curses were all ready to roll off of his tongue when he accepted the call.

"Gwen, it’s three in the morn—"

"Blake."

That's all it took for him to know something wasn’t right because the way she said his name was so completely wrong, it made him sit straight up in bed, the sleepy fog in his head clearing like it was never there in the first place.

The line was filled with a few moments of ragged breathing, and he felt too freaked out in those few seconds to even think straight.

”I know you probably hate me and I’m really sorry for what I’m about to ask and I—" She choked off into a cry and Blake’s stomach dropped.

“Gwen tell me what’s wrong.”

“I...I need you to come and get me.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before he was sliding out of bed, the phone cradled against his shoulder as he pulled on a pair of jeans. "Where are you?”

“I don’t know—a bar.” She sounded fragile. “Smith’s something?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.” He hung up quickly, knowing exactly which bar she was talking about and hoping he would get to her before some scumbag did.

“Blake?”

The producer looked down to his companion still laying in bed. “I gotta pick up a friend. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Lizzie sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “Everything ok?”

Blake finished buttoning up his black shirt and nodded, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

She huffed and stretched and complained but she finally laid down again and closed her eyes.

Blake did eighty the entire way there and silently prayed he wouldn’t get pulled over. When he arrived on St. Buros street, he parked his car on the opposite side of the packed pub, across the heavy trafficked road. He got out and locked his door, pulling his phone out simultaneously to call Gwen and tell her that he was there. The screen was still black when he flipped the device open and he realised it had died sometime while he was driving. Blake cursed and looked up, discarding the phone back into his pocket.

The street was packed, and the line to get into the bar was forming in the other direction. There were too many curious faces, anxious to involve themselves in the business of activities that didn’t mix too well with alcohol, no matter how minor. He walked a little farther, around the brick corner of the building where the private entrance was.

He cut pass the line and went straight to the doorkeeper, ignoring the irritated and drunken murmurs it caused. He didn’t have to say anything to the man guarding the door and in return the bodyguard didn’t have to prompt him for an explanation. He slipped him a hundred dollar bill and made his way inside. The weighted, oppressive air of the club immediately hit him, making him feel extremely light-headed. Nonetheless, he made his way to the bar and signaled for Trudy, the bartender.

“Well if it isn’t Big Bad Boone in the flesh.”

“Hey Trudy.”

“What are you doing out here so late?”

“I’m looking for someone. About this tall,” He raised his hand about midway to his chest. “Brown eyes, dirty blonde hair—a little darker actually.”

“You just described about half the women here, sweetheart.” Trudy laughed at his plight.

“I need to find her. She’s not supposed to be here,” He said, his words sounding rough in his ears.

“Congratulations, you just described the other half of the room.”

“Trudy. I’m not in the mood.”

She looked like she was going to protest, or at least say something mildly infuriating back to him but she placed a hand on his arm, instead, and nodded. “I would check the bathroom.”

He acknowledged Trudy’s help with his eyes, before turning away from them to survey the noisy area of the bar.

The perspiration along his hairline was drying cold in the air condition. He realised his hand was trembling, ever so slightly, and he tightened his hand into a fist to cut off the tremor.

Blake finally made his way to the back of the establishment, dissatisfied by not finding Gwen in the main room. He got to the hallway leading to the restrooms when he saw two guys crowding a female against a wall. He got closer and saw a flash of familiar honey hair. “Gwen?”

The two men backed away and he was relieved to see that it was in fact her. Her eyes lit up with relief as well. “Blake.”

He extended a hand out to her, beckoning her to come to him. She went immediately and sought refuge behind him as the two men came closer.

“We were in the middle of something,” One of them said.

“It looked like you were about done.” Blake replied.

The other scoffed and tried to brush him aside; Blake had his arm twisted up behind his back before anyone else could react. Unfortunately, it gave the other guy a chance to recover from the shock and send a fist swiftly his way.

It landed hard and definite above his eyebrow and he knew the ring had cut flesh on impact. The gash bled, and coppery crimson trickled down his skin. He didn’t have a second to register the pain before another blow connected with his nose, and for a moment he could neither breathe nor see. Just a flash of hot, electric pulses radiating from the point of contact outward to envelop his brain. There was a smeared vision of hardwood floor and tiny feet before he found his bearings and wasted no time in retaliating. It was gonna take more than a couple of sissy hits to keep him down.

One of them cut his eyebrow so he felt it appropriate to cut his lip. The other bruised his nose so he broke his in return. He was just getting started when suddenly there was a lot of movement around him, and hands pulling him away. Morgan and two other men came in to break things up, angry faces and shouted insults from the men who still wanted to fight him. They dragged them off through sheer force of will whilst Blake worked hard to stop his face from wincing at the pain and his breathing to return to normal. But he caught the look Morgan gave him, the one asking if he’ll be alright and the one also telling him to never fight in his bar again. When he managed a nod, Morgan left to deal with the two drunken idiots.

A relative quiet descended over him and Gwen, as much quiet as they were going to get in a bar. Forcing his head up to face her sent everything into a spin momentarily. Blake shifted so the back of his head rested against the wall.

“You alright?” He asked Gwen.

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. Are you alright? They didn’t touch you did they?”

“No. You got here…”

_In time_. He shuddered to think what could have happened if he didn’t speed, if he took a second too long talking to Trudy instead of being where Gwen needed him.

“You’re bleeding.” He nodded, feeling the trickling blood that he swiped from his nose. It smeared a little over his upper lip, a dark new mustache in the pub’s deep shadows. Blake flexed his hand through what could be bruised knuckles or a damaged wrist, and reached a hand to his eyebrow, noting the way his fingers came back coated, but on the whole he seemed otherwise unharmed. He didn’t complain. He just wanted to get them out of there.

“Let’s get you home.”

Gwen came to his side and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “Can you take me to your’s?”

“No.” Blake said tightly. His tone threw her; she wondered if he was upset with her. “Come on.” He placed a hand on her back and led her through the bar, past Trudy’s curious eye and out onto the still crowded street. He opened her door for her.

“What were you doing there?” He asked once he got in.

“I was out with Tony…”

Blake’s jaw clenched. He bundled up the bottom of his shirt and wiped his nose and eye before starting the car.

“He—I found him with some girl at the club we were at and she was—she was all over him and he didn’t look like he wanted her to go away...I didn’t know what to do. I looked like an idiot. I was so—” She cut off in one shuddery breath.

“Hurt.” Blake finished for her.

She nodded. “I left and I just walked and walked until I didn’t know where I was anymore. I didn’t want to be there but I couldn’t call Eric. I didn’t know what to do...I’m sorry.”

“Never apologise for asking me for help. I'll come every time.” He spoke quietly, a hand going to her thigh to help steady her.

She shook her head, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she opened her eyes and looked directly into his. “Please take me to yours.”

Blake sighed and closed his eyes momentarily before putting the car in drive. They didn’t talk the rest of the ride and Blake wasn’t surprised when he looked over and saw Gwen sleeping against the window. He looked back to the road, ignoring the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He turned off the car twenty minutes later. His house was still painted in the dark when they arrived.

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and shook lightly. “Gwen. Hey, wake up.” Her eyes opened lazily and she reached out to grab his hand. He gripped it tightly.

She hung on to him as they climbed the stairs to his front door. “You’re not staying at the Pasadena house?” She asked softly.

He inserted his key in the lock. He couldn’t muster up the courage to tell her that he could never stay there alone, not after what happened.

He guided her to the living room and sat her down. She looked too small, like the couch would swallow her whole any second now. He remembered what she told him about Tony and he thought she must be heartbroken, at the very least exhausted. Blake leaned down to kiss her cheek and started to lean back up when she held him back, her hand wrapping tightly around the curls in the back of his head. "Blake," She said, and he knew what was coming.

"Not now," He murmured. Not ever. They couldn’t ever speak about the kiss. He just couldn’t. “Let me get you some water.”

He left her for the kitchen and returned shortly to see her curled up with one of the blankets from the back of the couch. She stared at the blank tv screen. Blake sat next to her and handed her the cold glass. She noticed the wet rag he brought with him as well. He used it to wipe some of the dried blood from his face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked cautiously, setting the ruined cloth aside.

“There’s nothing to say. You were right.”

Watching her, Blake felt a tightening in his chest as the full weight of Tony’s enormous betrayal showed on Gwen’s face.

“How did you know it wasn’t going to work out?” She asked him and the question caught him off guard.

“I didn’t. But I know how love can be, especially when it’s young.”

“I don’t love him.”

“You do. And that’s fine.”

“I don’t.” She denied once again. “You don’t know everything.”

“You’re right. I don’t. Haven’t had to in some years now.”

Gwen narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“I don’t know if you noticed but I don’t like to carry the pain of loving someone if I don’t have to." To finally say it felt good. He was so very unlucky in love that he believed the best way to avoid it was to not let it in so easily. It was part of the reason why he tried to put the distance between them both.

"So you carry nothing.” She said, after a careful sip of water. It was clear that he had separated the war on feelings from pain. When one does not feel, one does not hurt. “No pain and no love.”

“I have love.”

"There's no love without pain.” She grimaced. “You taught me that.”

He shifted uncomfortably. Not knowing if she was referring to their brief tryst or not but then she reached over and took his hand.

“Your dad.”

He relaxed somewhat. It was true that he loved his father and as a result, he felt the knife cut him deep when he died.

He untangled their fingers discreetly. “Are you guys actually together? Is it official?”

Gwen swallowed. “He said he wanted to be with me after I told him how much I liked him. I thought we were. He would take me out on dates…”

He did not at first respond and when he spoke there was a disengagement in his tone she clearly detected. “Do you want more?”

There was a pause in which only the sound of their existence could be heard.

“Gwen.”

She swallowed once more. It was answer enough and Blake couldn’t stand the sight of her all of a sudden. She saw his Adam’s apple jolt along the elegant line of his neck as he looked away.

She closed the distance he had put between them immediately. Waited until he met her eyes again. “We don’t do much.”

He inclined his head but did not move back.

She paused briefly and then said, low and deliberate, “Of course I want more.”

He said nothing. He felt like he couldn’t. He never knew if she was talking about Tony or him and it nerved Blake to the point of insanity.

She glanced to the side for a moment. The sounds of their breathing so close to one another was so very loud that she decided to whisper her thoughts into him. “I don’t know if he likes me as much as I like him. When we kiss...Maybe it’s me–”

“No.”

She turned her head up to his properly, looking at him with the most intense stare.

“He’s a boy.” Blake continued; his left thumb coming up to rest in the soft, tender spot just under her chin where the ear joins skin. He rubbed there, gentle little circles with the pad of his thumb, but enough to make her breath heavy with longing. He leaned in. “He doesn’t know anything about kissing.” She closed her eyes the second his lips pressed to her cheek. She lifted her head automatically and he kissed her exposed jaw-line, moving carefully to kiss down her neck, breathing warm air onto it, letting his lips press against sensitive flesh. He thrusted his head up suddenly and connected his mouth to her ear, breathing hot air into it as he whispered, “That’s a man’s business.”

Gwen nuzzled the side of her face against his fervently. He wanted to return the attention in kind.

“Blake.”

A familiar voice halted him in his tracks. He pulled away from Gwen and looked up. Lizzie was coming down the stairs towards them, dressed in only a pair of panties and one of his shirts.

Gwen’s eyes widened, flashing with so many emotions that he couldn’t decipher any of them. Lizzie’s own eyes were bright but mainly due to the scene she just walked in on.

Gwen moved to stand so quickly, Blake barely managed to stop her from leaving. He pulled her back in by her arm. “Just wait a moment.”

She pulled away from him almost instantaneously. “You’re disgusting.”

“Gwen—”

She pushed past him and once again he stopped her with just one hand to her wrist. “I’m not sleeping with her.”

“She’s in your shirt!” She yelled at him.

His heartbeat was accelerating. “I. Am not. Sleeping with her.”

“You know what, it doesn’t even matter, Blake.”

“Look at me. Listen to me. She’s a friend. She’s an artist at the label, I’m her boss.”

Gwen grew silent, studying him, her keen eyes casting over his face. He stared right back, not once breaking eye contact, even as he addressed one of his oldest and dearest friends. “Lizzie wait in the kitchen.”

Her quiet footsteps were the only thing echoing throughout the house.

“Why is she in your shirt?”

“I get lonely. And she comes over and she shares a couple of beers with me and I’m—I’m not lonely anymore.”

“Do you love her?”

“No. I care for her. Just like I care for Bono. She’s like a sister to me. We’re close. Closer than most but I would never touch her in that way. Besides, she has someone already.”

His eyes pleaded but his gaze remained unwavering. Meanwhile, Gwen was beside herself. Her mind threw a myriad of questions and confusions at her, but the only thing that came out in a sudden rush was, “She’s pretty.” She paused slightly and then added with conviction, “I’m sorry.”

He drew in a deep, confirming breath. She was always apologising to him.

“I know what it looked like.” He brushed off her remorse. “Can I—?” He gestured to the kitchen. Gwen nodded and he squeezed her shoulder as he walked past.

Elizabeth was standing by the sink, her back resting somewhat tensely against the edge of the counter.

“You pick tonight of all nights to walk down here looking like my damn girlfriend.”

“You pick tonight of all nights to suck face with a teenager on the couch.”

Blake scoffed. “I wasn’t kissing her.”

“No, you were holding her. Really close if I may add.” Her voice softened but gained in intensity.

The thudding ache in his stomach made him nauseous.

“She’s the girl from the band right? I have to ask…” She stepped in and looked from one eye to the other as if trying to read a response before even asking the question, the question he sickeningly anticipated. “...have you been doing things you shouldn’t with her?”

He moved his feet apart rapidly; if he had not he would’ve stumbled.

Blake’s mouth ran dry but he replied without hesitation. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t act stupid.”

Her words made him drop his head. He glanced to the side, for once his usual quick wits and charm deserted him. Elizabeth was not somebody to lie to, he knew that. There was no need. She knew him and underneath all that nausea came something else, a strange sense of relief, of being able to share. He nodded imperceptibly.

His friend pursed her lips. “Boone…” Her voice was thin with concern.

He sighed and turned away. “It’s not what you’re making it out to be. Just don’t worry about it.”

“If Jimmy finds out—”

“There’s nothing to find out.”

Lizzie’s brows creased. “She’s young.”

He drew in a deep breath and turned his head up to the ceiling. “She is...intoxicating.”

“Blake.” She admonished before taking a deep breath herself. “How far has it gone?”

For the first time since acting on it, he felt guilt. He couldn’t answer.

“Have you...you know...deflowered her?”

Blake groaned. “Hell just ask if I popped her cherry so we can move on.”

“Move on? You’re screwing an artist! How many years huh? I’m betting she’s a whole decade younger than you, the full ten yards.”

Now defensive anger rose in him. He turned to her, his eyes hard, his voice rasping. “I didn’t touch her. I know the rules. And I don’t care if she’s fifteen years younger than me, she’s a grown up, she can handle herself.”

“Is the dried blood on your shirt and stupid ass face supposed to convince me of that? That she can take care of herself?”

Blake glared at his friend.

Elizabeth sighed, knowing when she had hit a nerve. “So it’s just..what? Kissing?”

He nodded.

“But you want more.”

He said nothing. She would deduce it from that alone.

“Old habits die hard, don’t they?” Lizzie paused, allowing her understanding to hit him, along with the many young and beautiful girls he had not resisted in his past. It’s why he was so determine to watch Gwen grow into herself, into a woman. A woman he would not be so tempted by anymore.

He ran his hand constantly over his forehead. “Everytime she's around I think of what we could have and everything we will absolutely destroy. I know it. But I can’t tell her that.”

Elizabeth paced towards him indignantly. “Then stop it. Turn it off.”

He looked at Elizabeth. He wanted to nod, to agree, because she was right. Love compelled him, decency demanded it of him. But he could still smell the fragrance of her hair as it tumbled upon his face, he could still feel the smoothness of her skin on his fingertips, he could still taste her on his tongue. And so he spoke his truth.

“...I don’t think I can.”

She frowned. “If you don’t...you’re going to lose her now, instead of twenty years from now.”

Something inside him curled up and died. The words, instead of being cold and harsh, were hot, almost to the point of scalding, and it burned. She was absolutely right, and he knew that above all else.

“Someone else will have her.” He murmured.

Elizabeth nodded, sympathetically. “You’ll leave enough of yourself in her that it won’t even matter.”

He glanced up. Hearing it so starkly made it seem like ice was suddenly encasing his heart. There was that coldness he was looking for. He almost felt relief, finally something hard and concrete he could use to put their fire out.

Blake took a step towards her, his voice low in its gravity, “You should do the same with Marshall.”

She smirked ruefully. “There’s only room for one of us to be unhappy in this friendship.”

“And we decided it was always going to be me?” He asked.

She smiled and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “No, sweetie.” She drew back. “You decided it was always going to be you.”

She patted his chest softly and walked past him, out of the kitchen and away with his extinguisher. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Lizzie’s character. She truly is just a friend to Blake. They’re close and as a result, Gwen and her will become close over the years too. More to come soon <3 :(:):


	6. Galaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! It’s been such a long time since I’ve updated this story and I’m so sorry. My mom has breast cancer and we had went through a little tumor scare and that added with the stress of getting into college and just trying to enjoy my senior year has been taking up all my time. But you’ll be happy to know that I got accepted into college and my mom is doing much better <3 i hope you enjoy this long update and just know I will be posting more frequently.

Page 15

Wariness implied having something left to be afraid of. When he walked back into the living room, the look Gwen gave him was a cautious one, maybe even slightly curious, but not frightened. Not anymore. He wondered how long it took to stop being afraid of the people you cared about and once you did, how it felt to be completely free of that fear. How would you approach them? How would you carry a conversation with them? How would you feel them knowing every touch before that was embedded with a cold terror. He didn’t want to find out anytime soon. Cause if he stopped being afraid of Gwen, the fire would surely engulf him and he’d let it, willingly, encouragingly, painstakingly, let it engulf him. And then he would be dead. He was of no use to her dead.

“Is she leaving?” Gwen asked quietly, glancing to the staircase where Lizzie had traveled up just a few seconds ago.

“Most likely.”

“Does she hate me?”

Blake laughed, “No. Not at all.” She looked unconvinced and Blake laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “...She hates what you do to me.”

Gwen went red in the face, and the air fell still, their hearts settled and thumped, eyes, brown eyes grew wide. His words settled between them, swirling with the dust mites, heavy and dark and impossible to get rid of.

“What do I do to you?”

Blake blinked, small creases appearing in his forehead. It seemed impossible. What didn’t she do to him? She was so opinionated and strong and passionate and alive. How can someone like that not know their effect? It’s like he was crumbling apart, walls falling down, like the Roman Empire, strong and real and alive until it wasn’t, until it was just ruins and a forgotten religion.

His face twitched as he licked his lips and looked over at her, breathing in heavily through his nose. He remained silent.

She tore herself from her spot across the room, and walked over to him, pressing herself against his long body, like she was yearning for a hug. She searched his eyes. Blake held them, his own dark yet seeing. He stared down at the woman before him, so young and trusting, and completely unseeing. It would be so easy to confuse devotion to the woman in front of him with devotion to the girl inside of her. The girl who would no doubt make his life so vivid and glorious and palpable.

Blake staggered in a breath of mortality. How easy it would be to lose control, to take her and run with her and keep her only for himself at the thought.

“Blake?” She tried for his attention again, and he felt the soft pliancy of her breasts pressed against him as her hands reached up to graze the hair on his arms.

He averted his gaze. “Are you hungry?” He asked lamely, steering the conversation to safer territory. “I know it’s late—early really, but I’m hungry.”

He left her vicinity in favour of the kitchen. He leaned against the inside wall as soon as he rounded the corner and clutched his chest.

He was screwed. He was so screwed and it didn’t even matter if he managed to somehow unscrew the damage done, he would always feel its effect.

Blake closed his eyes and wished—prayed—to whatever God was listening to make it all go away.

Page 16

Elizabeth left shortly after his mini crises. She kissed his cheek while he cut up peaches and murmured a quick goodbye. Gwen ended up getting dressed, at his insistence, into something more comfortable than her club wear, in some of Blake’s loosest sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt he won in a concert contest in college. Her ankles and feet disappeared in the hems of the sweatpants, leaving her to trip every now and then over the fabric so Blake dug up his pair of slippers from beneath the bed and gave Gwen those as well.

They settled onto opposite ends of the couch, both armed with bowls of fruit. He couldn’t think of anything lighter to put on their stomachs that late than a fruit salad. Judging by the way Gwen hungrily ate spoonfuls of watermelon and peaches, he thought she didn’t mind. He watched Gwen, blinking slowly, lips, jaw, and throat working over the sweet flesh with small chews. Gwen looked at him abruptly, watching him staring at her, and they both knew that Blake could say anything in that moment and she would be his. She wants to be his. One word and he could have everything in the palm of his hands.

“You’re making things difficult for me.” He said instead, not meeting Gwen’s eyes.

“Why am I making things difficult?” She replied.

“Because I know myself. And you don’t know me.” He hated speaking that way. Unclear but transparent, just enough so that she could see into his insecurities and fears.

_I know me. I’ll be your friend. And I’ll pick you up from bars and nightclubs at three in the morning and serve you fruit and make sure you have a warm place to rest your head at night. I’ll produce your music and watch you on stage and listen to you sing to the money in my pockets. I’ll hold your hand when a guy lets go of your heart. I’ll be there. I will. But I can’t be **here**._

Gwen moved slowly across the couch, eyes locked on his. He held his breath as she moved in closer, one elbow propped on the cushion back, the other moving up with the rest of her elegant arm, fingers skimming the side of his temple. She pushed back a small lock of hair which grazed his eyelid.

He was a subtle man he knew. A twitch of the mouth, a nearly-invisible sigh whispered out between labored breaths, the faint sheen of perspiration at the hollow of his neck; he let her see. But seeing hurts less than feeling. Not so subtly, he pulled completely away, until no part of their bodies were touching any longer.

He winced at the resignation in her eyes. He was stubborn. This he knew. But he also knew a good thing when he had it, and Gwen...Gwen was a very good thing. Giving her up would be somewhat of a tragedy and he had enough tragedies to last him a lifetime.

Gwen sat back finally, eyes fixed on her fruit. She plopped a piece of watermelon in her mouth and chewed slowly. Blake watched her jaw move again, watched her tongue come out to swipe the juice from her lips.

He stood suddenly, startling her.

“Come on.” He gestured with a tilt of his head, his legs carrying him across the room to grab his keys.

“What?”

Blake turned back around to face her and the sight that greeted him was almost comical. There was a piece of peach hanging from the side of her mouth and her sitting down made his clothes look even larger on her small frame, paired with the confused expression on her face; she was a sight to cherish.

“I said come on. We’re leaving.”

She stood up and looked at him with wide eyes, still clutching her bowl. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere fun. Put your shoes on.”

Gwen, frazzled, toed off his slippers and found her flats by the television. “I can’t go out dressed in your clothes. I look crazy.”

“You look fine. Where we’re going you don’t need to dress up.”

Gwen grabbed her flip phone and tried to straighten her hair with her left hand while the right still held her bowl of fruit. “It’s four in the morning. Is this place even open?”

Blake bit his tongue. “Obviously.”

“Where’s it at?”

He groaned. “Gwen, stop asking questions and will you please put the damn fruit down.”

“Ok, ok. Chill it grumpy pants.”

Blake watched her grab a handful of the watermelon balls left and shove the rest of them into her mouth until she looked pretty darn close to a chipmunk. She ran a hand through her hair once again and looked over at him, smiling a half a second later, her mouth filled with red water and mush.

He shook his head. “That’s just nasty.”

She smiled even wider and walked over to him. Blake opened the front door and gestured for her to walk out first. Blake stepped out after her and shut the door behind him, sticking his key into the lock. He felt Gwen’s hand come and pull at the back of his shirt, wrapping itself around the fabric.

His jaw tensed but he found that it was because he was smiling so hard. She was probably wiping the leftover melon juice from her hand on him for all he knew. The thought made him smile even harder.

“Remind me to let Betty out when we get back.” Blake said as he headed down the steps, his arm wrapped around her lower back, guiding her to the open garage.

Gwen attempted to whistle as they approached the car sitting elegantly inside. “How did I miss that?” She asked surprised. “And how the hell do you even fit in there?”

Blake scratched his scruffy chin, feigning annoyance at her teasing. “You could walk there if you want.” He teased right back.

Gwen looked at him with a sparkle in her eye, shoving him with her elbow softly. “Come on cowboy,” She walked around to the passenger side. “Open my door for me.”

Blake snorted but complied, watching her small form fold neatly into the cream seats before closing the door.

Blake’s Oldsmobile was about thirty years old—well, twenty-five to be exact, but the interior looked brand new, all sinewy, well-oiled leather and vinyl. Gwen looked almost afraid to sit in it and tarnish the upholstery. The leather made a rough creaking sound as Blake carefully lowered himself into the seat. They were lower to the ground than Gwen was used to, and Blake saw her shift around to get comfortable.

"Whadd'ya think?" Blake asked, almost excitedly.

Gwen looked around some more. “Why aren’t we taking the truck?”

Blake laughed. “That bad, huh?”

“No, no. It’s not like that. I just didn’t think you were the type to like old cars like this.”

“It was my dad’s. He won it in an auction and lost it in a poker game.”

Gwen’s laugh rang out and touched the leather, vibrated off the glass of the windows, and warmed the night air. “You play poker?”

“No, just the one time.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I won a car, didn’t feel the need to try my luck the next game, or any one after that. Plus, it’s a good story. You’re fascinated to say the least.”

“The look on my face isn’t fascination.” She replied.

“No? Then what?”

“Gratitude.”

Blake stared at her confused. “You’re grateful for the car?”

“Grateful for the story. I’m glad I was one of the million people you know that you told it to.”

Blake’s eyes grew dim. “I don’t know a million people.”

She shrugged. “I feel like _I_ do when I’m with you.”

He was rendered speechless, motionless. Her eyes were warm and if Blake could think of a colour warm enough to match them he would paint his whole world with every shade of it if he could.

"One day you’ll know a million people on your own.” He replied.

“You think?”

“Yeah...you’ll be singing to them.” He turned the key and let the ignition roam to life, the heavy sound filling the heavy air, the engine rumbling like a purr in their bones.

  
Page 17

They cruised through the streetlamp-lit night. Gwen looked across at Blake, his profile relaxed, but his gaze determined on the road ahead. She noted every rise and fall of his chest, she studied the clenching of his jaw muscle every now and then and remarked on the unfeasible short length of his eyelashes silhouetted against the glass. He had an elbow hanging out the window while he drove. He had a spare shirt on the floor of his car and changed out of the blood stained one from earlier, promptly asking Gwen to close her eyes as he did. Gwen smiled at the memory. The first two top buttons were undone. His sleeves were rolled up and she found herself staring at his forearms, noted the blood running through prominent veins, the hairs dusting them, the long fingers curled around the wheel.

In the street-light of the dark morning, the shadows made his face softer, and Gwen wanted to trace his features over and over and over again. She didn’t know why but she was obsessed with every little thing he did, every little thing he was.

Soft music filtered through the old radio and Gwen asked if she could change one of the dials. He nodded and she played around with the waves before landing on a familiar song.

“I met Sting once.” She blurted out as The Police’s, _Can’t Stand Losing You_ , rang throughout the car.

Blake glanced at her, clearly amused.

“I was fourteen. He signed my record too.”

Blake laughed suddenly, not the booming kind, the one where his dimples slightly stretched and his lips curled elegantly at the sides.

“What’s so funny?” She asked.

“Nothing.” He laughed that laugh again. “Nothing, I just hope he remembers you when you see him again.” He shook his head, still quietly laughing to himself. “Or else that’ll be about the most awkward thing I’ll ever have to sit through.”

She gave him a pissed off look and Blake laughed even harder. “What the hell is your problem?”

Gwen crossed her arms over the seat belt. “You know Sting?”

“He’s a friend of Jimmy’s. I get a drink with him every now and then with some other guys.”

She sighed. Blake kept switching his eyes from the road to her sullen form and then back again. “Are you upset that I know him?”

“Kind of.” She mumbled.

“Gwen…” He started chuckling, _again_.

“It’s not funny. You know everybody. Everybody loves you. I thought I finally had something you didn’t and what do you know, you’re freakin best buddies with Sting.”

“Best buddies?” He laughed some more, louder and more obnoxious. If that was even possible, she wasn’t sure but he kept on.

Gwen huffed and turned to face the window. Blake’s laughter subsided a little before stopping altogether a minute later, the music was growing quieter too. She felt a strong hand curl around her thigh and Gwen looked over to see him already staring. His small smile was gentle and his eyes kind.

She huffed out a breath. “You’re honestly this cool and weird producer guy who could literally hang out with anyone he wanted.” She said quietly.

Blake nodded and looked back to the road. “Ok.”

Her gaze landed on the slope of his nose. “So why would you want to hangout with me?”

His hand squeezed her leg tightly. “You do realise that people like Sting don’t admire me. They’re not influenced by me. They won’t write a song or make a whole album just because they want to be better than me. I don’t inspire them. But you...Gwen _you_ are going to be their competition. You’re gonna be their muse. You’re gonna be the one they look at—the one they hear and instantly want to be apart of whatever it is you are, whatever it is that you’re doing. So stop thinking about what I see in you cause I can tell you right now that it’s the whole damn world and then some.” Blake stared straight at the road ahead as he said it, his mouth screwed up after like he was possibly regretting the words or perhaps the way in which they were said.

Gwen didn’t know what to say back so she said nothing. Instead, she placed her hand over Blake’s where it still rested on her thigh and curled their fingers together. They rode in silence for a moment until Gwen couldn’t stand it anymore and turned the music back up.

They got onto the main road that lead them into downtown L.A. Gwen watched the night, gazed at the starry lights and drifts. There was something inexplicably surreal about night driving, something that made you feel like you were the last surviving person on earth, even if there were other cars on the road. It was a tangible weightlessness, as though anything they did under the cover of darkness would always result in no consequence. Gwen could feel Blake’s weightlessness and her own combining together but it still eliminated the heaviness of everything else that wasn’t them. The darkness he had given her was pulsing through her veins, and she knew right there and then that there was never supposed to be any light in the human body. Even the soul was meant to be covered in shadow, just like this sky and every other sky they found themselves driving under. Just like they were the only two living beings, their souls were the only two roaming in the dark and they didn’t need any light to help find each other.

“Are we almost there?” Gwen asked as they rounded a bend and drove along a dark road.

“Perfect timing,” Blake remarked and nodded his head further up the road.

It was obvious where the restaurant was: a neon sign with “Buckley’s” hanging over the terrace. But its lure was the warm glow emanating from the windows and the sound of laughter and music rippling towards them down the street as Blake rolled down the windows.

“I can’t believe people are up at this time.”

Blake pulled into an empty parking spot in the grass. “The place opens at one and closes at seven.”

She stepped out ahead of him, hands clutched before her, but he soon came around to her side and placed an arm around her back. He kept pace beside her as they walked to the front entrance.

Gwen looked at the place with amazement. The fact that it was sort of hidden, and was only open in the wee hours of the morning only enthralled her.

Blake looked down at her with a smile. “People come here for a beer, the soup, a chance to beat the high score on Galaga, and a dance or two with someone special. All in that order.”

“Is that why you come here?”

“I come here because going anywhere else would be disappointing.”

“That great huh?”

He stopped and stared into her and the fearsome beauty of him, the sheer clarity of his emotions, robbed her of breath.

“After this, you’ll wish you could somehow trap yourself in every single moment of this night. I’ve never wanted to be stuck in forever but this place makes you feel pretty damn close to it.”

Gwen struggled to compose her thoughts. “How did you find it?”

He shrugged with a rueful smile then held his hand out towards the door. “You don’t find this place. This place finds you.”

Gwen held his gaze a moment longer before walking inside. The restaurant all but exuded human warmth right away. Couples sat at tables, leaning into each other, sharing a pint or even a bottle of cider and beer. The bar was busy, and the barman joked with each customer. Blake really must have been a regular there, because the bartender greeted him with a half-smile and a head nod. Meanwhile, Gwen focused in on the huge jukebox by the stage, a small group of smiling girls picking through each record, playing one with a swing tune and a verve and a love of life she could sense immediately. The lights were low, and there were corners of dark intimacy where lovers leaned in to exchange whispered promises and romantic words. Others danced and swayed or simply held one another on the floor. It reminded her of warm, balmy evenings of dancing until late and stolen kisses.

“Come on,” Blake murmured in her ear and lead her to a table tucked away on the far side of the restaurant, although everybody seemed so engrossed in their own worlds that nobody lifted a head as they passed and scooted their way across the establishment. They sat down next to each other, the booth only facing one way behind the table. In fact, the entire wall was a long booth and Gwen found herself sitting several feet away from another woman. She was a sea of red and looked beautiful in the low light. Suddenly, Gwen felt self-conscious about her choice of attire.

She bit her lip and eyed Blake again. His head was down looking at the menu.

“You haven’t come to see us in weeks, Boone.” An older woman approached them.

Blake looked up and grinned. “Penny, how’s the family?”

“Growing.” She pointed to her pregnant stomach and laughed.

“Neil must be going bald by now.” Blake remarked.

“Buy him some Bossley for Christmas. Lord knows he won’t buy it himself.”

Blake chuckled. “You got it.” He turned to her and smiled softly. “Penny this is Gwen. Gwen this is Penny, Buckley’s finest waitress.”

“Nice to meet you, Sugar.”

“It’s really great to meet you.”

“What can I get you guys to drink?”

“Pineapple ace for her and Bell’s two-hearted ale for me.”

Penny nodded. “You want soup?”

“Two bowls.”

“Give me two minutes.” Penny turned away to fetch their orders.

The two of them grew quiet. It was a comfortable silence, and Gwen took the opportunity to look at her surroundings again. There were so many different types of people there that it was impossible to look out of place. And everyone seemed to be so _genuine_. It freaked her out a little bit.

“Blake?”

He hummed, his eyes trained on the dance floor, but his ears perked up in the direction of the sound of her voice.

“Nevermind.”

He looked over at her. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know. It’s just everyone…” She couldn’t explain it.

Blake followed her many lines of sight, stared at the same people she stared at, admired the same dresses and jeans and boots she admired. He smiled. “Yeah.”

“Right?”

“Right.”

She knew to an outsider that their entire conversation wasn’t making any sense but as long as he got her, that was all that mattered.

“Nobody’s pretending.” Blake spoke up. “This is who I am. This is who I’ve lost. This is who I love. Now I’m gonna dance and act like it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t.”

Gwen looked on in wonder. “It's crazy.”

Blake nodded. “Told you. Who’d want to leave a place where you can completely be yourself.”

Penny reappeared with their drinks and soups a moment later. "Oh, by the way," She said to Blake. "Somebody broke your record the other day."

"Are you shitting me?"

“Somebody named peabody.”

“The hell?”

“And Craig took George out the jukebox.”

“You’re just the tree that keeps on giving aren’t you.” Blake replied, somewhat bitterly.

“Eat your soup you big baby. And you,” Penny pointed at her. “Don’t let this spoiled man child ruin your first night here. Enjoy, Sugars.”

Gwen couldn’t help the laughter bubbling in her chest as she walked away. “I like her.”

“I’ll be sure not to let her know.”

She smacked Blake on the arm. He smirked and reached for his napkin. Gwen unfolded her own and looked down at her bowl with almost childlike glee. “This looks so good. What kind of soup is it?”

“Roasted butternut squash-apple soup.”

“A delicacy.” She added for him.

Blake shook his head, amused. “Just eat.”

They drank and ate quietly for a while, those calm silences which no one minds, but at length she asked gently, “Have you ever thought about making your own album?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Never?”

“Not since I first moved to Nashville.”

“Did you like it there?”

“Mostly.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Why would I stay?” He took another drink. It was clear he didn’t feel comfortable saying anymore.

Gwen finished the last of her soup to keep her mouth from asking anything else. He didn’t eat or say anything for a time and she felt regret scratching just beneath her skin as she glanced up and saw him staring at his beer. He gave a short laugh suddenly and Gwen looked up again to be met with a hint of a smirk before he took another drink, staring at her over the rim of the glass. She held his gaze.

“I need to see what damage this Peabody did to my high score. You up for a round?” He asked.

Gwen swore this man gave her whiplash. “Can I even say no?”

“I don’t know, can you? Did you not learn how to say it when you were younger? It’s really simple. See, you just put your tongue to the roof of your mouth and—ow!”

“Don’t make me get Penny on you.”

Blake rubbed his bicep and laughed.

The game room had a decent crowd. A group of men and women were huddled around the multiplayer pac man machine, whooping and hollering as each different colored pac man ate dots and fruits. There was a couple battling each other on Tetris and another on Pong. Blake sidled right on up to Galaga and slammed the start button, bypassing the high score screen immediately.

Gwen leaned against the side of the machine and watched him attempt to reclaim his high score. The scene was almost comical. Every time he died he swore a different curse word, some she had never even heard before, and Gwen was almost taken back each time. She got used to the swearing, and even allowed herself to be amused by it.

"Horseshit!" Blake shouted after his eighth consecutive loss.

"Maybe tonight’s not your night. We could go back to the table and order another beer, maybe some more soup to soothe the ego," Gwen volunteered.

Blake made a face at her. “You just want to eat. That’s so selfish of you, Gwen.”

“You’re the one literally off your rockers.”

“No. I’m five hundred points away from knocking Peabody off his high horse. I need support from my girl.”

Gwen tried to ignore the way her heart flipped at the ‘my girl’ and instead studied the high score screen as it rolled every user's credits. “Um, you’re actually a thousand points away.”

Blake turned to look at the screen as well and Gwen watched him make a face like he suddenly forgot how to read. "Gwen you need to work on your math skills."

She choked on a laugh.

They headed back to their table for another round of soup and beer. When Penny came back with their orders, she sat for a moment and took off her flats, rubbing the soles of her feet roughly.

"Um..." Blake ineloquently started a sentence.

"Oh, don't be a little bitch," Penny said, putting her shoes back on. “This baby is killing my back and murdering my feet.”

“Penny?” Blake addressed her after a minute of rubbing and prodding.

“Yeah?”

“Get the hell outta here, please.”

She pointed her finger at him as she stood up and started to walk backwards. “Don’t make me spit in your beer and sneeze in your soup the next time you come in.”

Blake put up his middle finger as he slurped from his spoon loudly.

“You guys are crazy.” Gwen commented with a shake of her head and a smile.

While they continued to eat, more couples started to move onto the dance floor. Gwen watched them, at first with detachment, but as the evening wore on, she became envious. Realistically, Blake had only danced with her that first time because she insisted. The second was a fluke, maybe even a tactic to get her to calm down, to comfort her in a way that she was comfortable with. But he wouldn’t want _her_ to be that special person he shared a dance with. And that was fine, Gwen told herself. She was stuffed anyways.

But then the place shut down the jukebox and a live band set up an hour later. The members took turns singing their favorite songs and it felt like everyone was out on the floor to relish every moment of the impromptu performances. At one point, the blonde singer called down the microphone, “Just a couple more left, folks. Get to it if you haven’t already.” He seemed to be staring right at her and Gwen flushed.

She glanced at Blake. Either he hadn’t heard or was deliberately ignoring his warning. Gwen sighed. He didn’t want her, at least not in that way. He made that very clear. So why then still bring her out? What was she good for unless it was putting money in his pockets? Soon that’s all she would be to him and she needed to accept that now before it was too late and her ego was bruised and her heart shattered.

Gwen watched him as he finished the last of his fourth beer and realised she was keeping up with him if her four empty glasses were any indication. He finished his last mouthful and wiped his mouth carefully. He pointed at her glass. “More?”

She nodded. If she couldn’t dance, she would drink.

Gwen watched an older couple stride past their table and onto the floor with everyone else while she waited for Blake to come back. When several minutes past, another cider ended up in her line of vision. Blake scooted in next to her with a smile.

It was too big for his face and Gwen found herself giggling at the randomness of it all. “You seem happy.”

He chuckled. How lighthearted, how human he seemed as he laughed some more, his seraphic face untroubled. He stopped a second later, eyes determined to just stare right at her. He had a look of contemplation all of a sudden.

“What are you thinking?” She murmured.

“I'm thinkin' about how I don't want this night to end," He confessed. In his tipsiness, his eyes unapologetically settled on her lips and then danced their way up to catch her gaze again. "I don't care if we just sit here all night. Doing nothing with you is a thousand times more better than anything I've ever tried to do alone.”

Gwen thought back to his thousand Galaga points and smiled. “Blake?” He took another sip of his drink and just the sight had Gwen feeling the effects of her two. “Can we dance?”   
  
Blake looked over at her. And then, without breaking eye contact, he stood up and held his hand down to hers. The room span as she took it but she let him lead her with a slowness, an almost painful sensuality, onto the dancefloor.

Ronnie Milsap’s He Got You was the next song on the list and the drum player from the band finally moved from his spot in the back up to the front. He grabbed the microphone with ease and Gwen looked away from the stage to return her attention to the back of Blake’s head. He turned around when they found a spot on the floor big enough for the both of them. After a moment of drunken awkwardness on his part, he slid his hand around her waist and held his other out for her to take, which she did. Gwen placed her other hand on his chest, near his shoulder. He was so tall that stretching any higher to properly lay her hand on top would no doubt cause her some discomfort.

As they started to move, Gwen couldn’t help but laugh at the little space they actually had to maneuver. There were bodies everywhere. It was hot but she didn’t feel sticky. It was such an extraordinary situation that she laughed aloud.

Blake, who kept his eyes trained on her the whole time, crinkled his nose as if he had read her thoughts and felt the same.

Gwen grinned and let him turn her. As they gradually grew closer in their steps, Gwen inhaled him. She couldn’t exactly place what it was about his scent that made her feel whole, natural, alive. She opened her mouth to force the words out but none came. Blake leaned down and his sweet breath fanned over her lashes.

“What is it?” He asked in the space between them.

Gwen still struggled to find the words and faltered. “It’s hard to explain it right,” She said finally.

“Explain it wrong, then.”

Gwen stared up into an ocean of blue and couldn’t believe her luck. She shook her head and drew him closer.

That was it. It hit her suddenly. The sun, the lake, ginger and rich soil. He smelled of damp leaves and a crisp breeze. It moved her and in return she moved him.

“I’m waiting.” He murmured.

She shook her head against his chest. “Forget it.”

She felt his chest move rapidly, like he was suppressing a laugh. Gwen brought her eyes up again to meet his, seeing in a new light how attractive he really was, especially when he laughed. “What?” She asked.

“Love.”

She froze in his arms. “What?” She repeated dumbly.

“Love. There must be a better word. Everyone says I love you.”

She stared into his eyes, saw how red they were with liquor, laced with happiness. He was drunk. Happily drunk. He couldn’t deny it now, and to anyone else that didn’t know him, or at least know his eyes, wouldn’t have known the difference. And Gwen was impressed. He could hold his alcohol, but that didn’t stop her from seeing that his guard was completely down, a rare occurrence when he was sober.

“That’s because it’s the thing to say when you do love someone.” She replied.

“....Well I adore you.”

He met her gaze, but any sign of want was completely gone from his expression. He was serious. His unwavering devotion to her struck something inside of her, so deep that it would take an eternity to uncover it all. He wasn’t trying to seduce her, he was trying to make her understand, make her listen. To what exactly she didn’t know. She equally liked and hated drunk Blake in that moment.

They continued to dance without further thought on their earlier conversation, a natural rhythm flowing between them and, as the song ended, Blake spun her under his arm. She giggled with surprise and descended into a flew blown laughter when she saw the relief on his face of not dropping her flat on her face. When he returned her upright again, he smiled at her with both his lips and his eyes. “Magic,” He whispered.

She hummed in agreement, her grin growing by the second. He sniffed and gave her another dazzlingly smile before looking around the crowded floor. There was no obvious way off it, not yet anyways. Blake turned back to her, almost about to shrug but the singer reached for the microphone again and announced, “You have all been lovely. It’s been a real pleasure to play for you tonight here at Buckley’s. We’re comin’ up on our last song, so make this one special.”

They began to play another well-known Milsap song, one Gwen remembered her parents dancing to when she was just a little girl. They were playing Lost in the Fifties Tonight. She glanced at Blake. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She assumed she should at least try to make her way back to their table but Blake stepped further into her space and slipped his hand around her waist again. He drew her into him and Gwen gasped at the strength in which he did it with.

She hadn’t felt it during the first song, but now, feeling his long arm wrap around her body, the other moving to clutch her hand, her stomach almost heaved violently, her breathing stuttered, and her heart beat so loudly she wondered if anyone could hear it over the instrumentals.

She reached up to his shoulder, glancing up in his direction briefly. He was looking at the other dancers behind her. But he moved her silently, softly in their little space for one but fit two.

_In the still of the night_  
 _Hold me darlin’_   
_Hold me tight_

The song drifted on, slow and sensuous and painfully real. He drew her hand closer to his chest, which pulled her entire length tighter against his body. She could smell him, that rich scent of earth beneath your feet and soil running through your veins. She felt connected to the very molecules and atoms that surrounded them whenever she was with Blake. She felt his strength keep her grounded to the floor, doing more for her than gravity ever could. His shoulder was strong under her fingertips, and she grasped it tightly, holding on for dear life. His broad chest protected her from everything that wasn’t them.

“Fate is fluid and destiny is in the hands of men.” Her father used to say. “But if you believe in him, if you pray to him, your fate will bleed into your destiny, and your destiny into your own hands.” Gwen sent a silent prayer up above to let these arms always be available to her when she needed them most. Maybe if fate saw her now, it would tell destiny to give her hands the chance to hold him tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.

_Now and for always_  
 _Til time disappears_   
_We’ll hold each other_   
_Whenever we hear_

Gwen closed her eyes as the chorus sang her back to life and created this little world, just for the two of them. She laid her head against his chest and let him lead her back to a time where she was joyous and carefree.

He didn’t hesitate either, he didn’t falter in his steps or throughout their journey. His hand splayed on her lower back and he pressed her in even more against him. They danced there, like long-time lovers, and nobody else needed know the truth that they weren’t, or that they would most likely never be.

Gwen drifted against him, her ear pressed close enough not only to hear his heartbeat but to feel it. Blake lowered his head briefly, and Gwen wondered what he would do next, but then the heat of him just before her face disappeared, the breath fanning her nose along with it. Instead his entire being tightened along her, brought her even closer as if he was trying to make them one person. She clung to him all the more. Sometimes it felt like the ground liked to split from underneath her and she needed arms, long, sturdy arms—Blake’s arms—to keep her above ground.

She thought back to the first lyrics. How she closed her eyes and followed her heart that night there with Blake. How ten years, twenty years down the road, she would call on these memories, right here in the dark.

Eventually the song drifted to a close and, if either of them had been more aware, she would have realised that the couples were leaving the floor, the band was finished, the staff was officially off the clock, counting tips and eating a late meal just before they retired to their homes. But the two of them did not part. Even while the cleaning people swept and washed up beer from the floor and soup from the tables, Blake moved her slowly, barely, and she pressed herself against him, so close as to be indistinguishable.

When the lights had come on in full, Gwen winced behind her closed eyelids. She felt Blake tense. Out of necessity, she lifted her head from his chest and pulled back a little. His hand relaxed on her lower back but did not leave it. She almost didn’t dare look at him, but she needed to. He did not meet her eyes but stared down at a point somewhere beneath her chin. He was breathing heavily and still held her close.

“Blake…”

He hummed, eyes drifting up to her own.

“I think everyone wants to go home now.”

“Do you want to go home?”

There was something about his tone, caught with the slightest rasp, which made her belly twist. “Do you?”

“To be honest, I want another drink.”

She grinned. “You’ve already had plenty. You want me to drive home?”

“You had as much as me. I’ll drive.”

At last, Blake and she fell apart. Blake crossed to the bar and met her out front. She risked a look at him. His face was expressionless and he did not meet her eyes. She gulped in the cool night air. Glancing up, the stars were out, thousands of them against inky blackness.

They began to walk back to the car. “You want me to drop you off at home now?” He asked.

“Do you want to drop me off at home?”

He stopped, suddenly. “Stop doing that. Tell me what you want.”

She stopped too, feeling that heat build up inside her again. “What I want, you wont give me.”

He let out a heavy breath through his nose. “Possibly.”

Possibly. Not probably. Probably meant most likely. Possibly meant not ever.

He continued on to the car, both their shoes crunching the dry grass as she followed after him. He opened her door and shut it somewhat harshly.

Gwen leaned her head against the cold window and stared at the stars as he drove. She couldn’t tell if they were passing the stars by or the stars were passing them by. She moved her head slowly against the head rest to glance at Blake. His eyes were dim as he watched the dark road, and as she recognized the route to her parent’s house, she almost cried.

Page 18

They had stopped just outside the house. Gwen got out before Blake could come around to her side and open her door. Gwen bunched up his shirt at the bottom, suddenly aware again that she was still wearing his clothing. They stood there as the moonlight caught the ripples of the small pond her father had dug for her mother in the front yard. The silver fluidity reminded her of God’s plan.

Neither spoke to each other, just like the ride there. Gwen felt him next to her. She remembered his body under her fingers, under her head, the thud of his heartbeat. He was so close now. No one was around, no one was near. She wanted it again so badly it hurt, it burned her. She blinked back tears once again.

“Good night, Blake,” She said and turned away from him.

His hand encircled her wrist so quickly she didn’t at first realise what it was. She looked down. He was holding onto her, not hard, not aggressively, but with palpable need. She could have pulled out of his grasp, push him away for being stupid and mean but kind and beautiful in the same second, but she allowed herself to be held back by him. She could have also turned to him, pressed herself against him, run her hands around his neck and through his hair and brushed her lips with his own.

But she did neither. One would hurt them both, the other would hurt her more. Blake’s eyes held such raw torment in them she nearly wept for him.

“Can you try to understand.” He whispered.

She wouldn’t. She could try but she knew she would never. And that was that.

She nodded.

With a shudder of breath, Blake closed his eyes, leaned close to press a soft kiss against her cheek, only to let go of her arm and turned his back on her.

Gwen watched him get into his car, watched him drive off into the night, and stood for a heartbeat more before walking up the steps to her front door.

 

 


End file.
